


The Tale of Lyra Black

by Lumosmancer



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Adventure, Black Family, Crouch Family, Fuck lockdown I might actually finish a fanfic??, Mystery, Old Ideas, Original Character(s), thank you fanatical fics for ruining my life love u
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-22
Updated: 2021-01-22
Packaged: 2021-03-14 08:15:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 27,607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28917429
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lumosmancer/pseuds/Lumosmancer
Summary: Death and dismay seemed to follow Lyra like a shadow.The heir that united the Black and Crouch bloodline attracted danger as though she had a massive sign pinned to her back, even long before she knew of the Wizarding world. She was thought to be dead - murdered, in fact - by her father, she was now a mere memory to those who knew of the tragedy that occurred on Halloween 1981. But no, she was simply plonked in a small seaside town orphanage instead, merely waiting for someone to rescue her.And then a wizard wearing very odd robes turned up...
Comments: 1
Kudos: 2





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I came up with this fan-fiction idea maybe 10ish years ago whilst reading GOF The chapter named Padfoot Returns. I suddenly and deeply, like deeeeply, read into the relationship between Sirius and Barty Crouch Sr and then boom Lyra was born. My 13 year old brain then RAN with that idea! So enjoy I guess!

THE DAILY PROPHET  
 **SIRIUS BLACK SENTENCED TO LIFE IN AZKABAN FOR MURDER OF FIFTEEN**  
 _Reported By R. Almeidas  
Edited By R. Skeeter_  
  
BREAKING NEWS: Sirius Black (eldest son of the distinguished Black dynasty) has been sentenced to lifetime imprisonment in Azkaban for his involvement in the monstrous murders that had occurred late on Halloween night.  
Black, twenty one years of age residing in Dorset, was spotted chasing down Peter Pettigrew, twenty one years of age residing in Yorkshire, and subsequently cast a blasting curse that ended the life of 12 muggle bystanders and Pettigrew. Witnesses described Black as 'deranged' as he began the attack, but we have an exclusive interview with Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement Bartemius Crouch to tell us a little more about this horrendous incident.  
'Black was accosted at approximately twenty past midnight, minutes before we were alerted to his vicious ambush against Pettigrew, and sadly we were not able to intervene before Black blasted those around him. Unfortunately we were not able to recover Pettigrew's body but we were able to contact the victim's family to return all we could find.' It was at this point that the prestige Head of Department who was known for his unwavering controlled manner in court, grew teary for a moment before carrying on - 'It is also my duty to inform the public of Black's truly evil nature as we have cause to believe that this was not his first murder of the night... The body of Giselle Black has been found at their residence and the remains of their daughter, Lyra, are nowhere to be found.'  
Giselle Black, for those readers who don't know of this scandalous detail, was the eldest daughter of Bartemius and Adelaide Crouch, and took Black's name after their small summer wedding two years prior. Despite the overwhelming work that comes after He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named's downfall ( _see yesterdays issue_ ) Crouch specifically put himself in charge of his son-in-law's case and has since refused him a... **_\- continued on page two._**  
  
-Issue released 2nd November 1981


	2. Poor Man’s Point

Seagulls cawed, flocking together to fly over the broad Jurassic cliffs of Dorset, sea spray and rain soaking the small seaside town as it had done for centuries. The harsh ocean crashed against the rocks skirting the cliffs and the wind howled along with the deafening waves. It was always loud along the coastal paths that lined the cliffs, and today a few visitors dared to sneak a peek over the cliff’s heart-stopping drop, hoping to see the sea foam explode along the stone. 

Jane wiped her face of rain and sea salt and turned up the volume of her tatty Walkman, adjusting the headphones and checking to see if it was getting damaged by the rain. Once satisfied, Jane shoved it quickly into her pocket and dragged her foot faster along the pavement, her skateboard finally gathering speed. The wind whipped her cheeks harder as she flew off but she didn’t care, it was rather soothing. With _Frankie Goes to Hollywood_ blasting in her ears, she took in the scenic view of the town below she called home.

She could see the dank orphanage from her viewpoint, the faded salmon cottage that stuck out like a sore thumb on the hill west of the town, sandwiched in between a long abandoned retirement home and a vast farm that stretched beyond the valley. It looked as horrible as the children that lived inside of it (Jane always thought it was rather fitting that _Cole’s Childrens Home_ was neighbours with a field full of cow’s dung) with its peeling rickety fences and broken toys littering the greens around the home. It was no secret the whole town despised the orphanage - specifically the _Coles Kids_ . The orphans that came from the home were a nuisance to everyone they met, constantly causing trouble for the locals and it gave all the kids a bad name, Jane included. She _hated_ being a Coles kid. 

Jane gasped and quickly skirted around a young couple holding hands, quickly shouting “Sorry!” as she zoomed past, and carried on following the cliffs paths towards her destination. Whenever she could, Jane was out on her skateboard, alone and enjoying her own company. It started out as a lie, with Jane finding a skateboard at the beach one day after school and using it as an excuse to spend time away from the home to practice. Once she got a good handle on her footwork she soon found the skateboard rather useful in other ways - it made her faster for her to get away from other kids and also not a bad shield! Jane glanced at the board in between her feet and spotted the chipped paint where a jagged rock had smashed against it. Overall, skateboards were pretty neat. 

The wind picked up when Jane arrived at Poor Man’s Point (a nickname the locals gave it as a few homeless people enjoyed the privacy of the coves hidden beneath the cliffs edge) and felt a rush of relief when she found it deserted. It was a tourist attraction, where the cliffs came to a delicate point, like a naturally formed diving board that overlooked the sheer drop to the ocean below. She came here often on the weekends, she found solace in the seagull screeches and rustling tree leaves that surrounded the peak of the cliffs. She rubbed her fingers together, trying to stay warm, and sat on the bench furthest from the edge. Her stomach did a little flip when her skateboard tried slipping towards the drop but she snatched it up quickly and hugged it to her chest. She would be furious with herself if the skateboard tumbled over the cliff - the walk home would take over an hour!

With the Walkman still blaring, Jane fumbled around in her stained canvas backpack and scooped out the disposable camera that had been gifted to her last Christmas by the only saving grace in her life; Danielle Greene, a carer at Coles. Roughly twenty five years old, Danielle was the youngest support worker at the care home, and the only one that liked Jane. She was very kind with a pretty pointed face and a rather thick Welsh accent, something Jane had spent the past two years imitating. She seemed to be the only one at the home who took notice of Jane's creative hobbies and bought her a cheap instant camera to experiment with. Jane had never received a gift before Danielle turned up, she had never been more protective of anything in her life. Jane snorted and felt Danielle’s old Walkman in her pocket - her _second_ most protected gift. 

The iron grey clouds swirled with the wind out above the ocean, the waves were violent and clashed with itself rolling over and over towards the deep nothingness beyond. Jane shuddered, remembering how sharp and cold it felt choking on sea water, how heavy the ocean could be when you’re panicking. She had experienced it twice in her life, twice she had been dragged into the water by the kids who made her life a living hell. But still, Jane allowed the camera to soak in the beautiful bittersweet sea.

She didn’t know how long she had been there, taking pictures of a far off boat battling against the tough conditions, but she was oblivious to the group making their way up the east-side paths zigzagging up the cliffs with their rattling bikes in their hands. The gang of kids were older than Jane by a couple of years, a bunch of teenagers who should've known better than to bully a vulnerable girl younger than them. They had spotted the girl a mile off, noticing the patched green coat and long black hair they had come to loathe, and knew exactly how they were going to spend the rest of their evening.

Jane only noticed how late it was getting when the bright flashes of a lighthouse further down the coastline started to ruin her photographs. It was always hard to tell the time of day when a storm was in town. It was the middle of July, the peak of summer and sunshine with deep blue skies and smiling tourists, yet summer decided to miss this year completely, instead substituting the warmth with rain and very cold winds that never died down. They were in the midst of a perpetual storm and it had not stopped raining for almost three weeks now. 

Suddenly the Walkman clicked and switched off, the CD whirling to a stop inside her jacket. Jane put the camera down on the bench and pulled the headphones off, and the booming waves and wind roared on. With her hair whipping around her, she scrambled in her bag for another rattling CD case but something in the corner of her peripheral caught her attention. Her stomach plummeted and her mouth suddenly became very dry. 

“Oi!” Someone shouted behind her, their yell carrying with the wind. It was too dark to make out any faces but Jane didn’t need a torch to know who it was. Did they stalk her here? She couldn’t catch a _break_.

Instead of looking up, she carried on searching for something loud and energising to boost her sudden mood dip. 

“Oi!” They shouted again. “You deaf?”

“It’s Sunday, the holy day - the day of rest!” shouted back Jane, brushing her hair out of her eyes. “Have a day off!” 

“Oh piss off freak!” 

Jane sighed and dropped the bag on her lap, taking a deep breath. She really _was_ starting early today, usually the f-word came halfway through the fight. She looked over towards the four people approaching her, wheeling four racing bikes that flashed menacingly at her through the darkness, trying to be intimidating. This might have worked a few years ago but Jane had gotten used to her bullies’ tactics quickly, even taunting them to get a little more creative with the oppression. With a lifetime of torment under her belt Jane had heard every swear word and slur come out of the bullies’ mouths and it was beginning to get a little boring.

“I bet you could find someone else alone and vulnerable right now, I can’t be your only victim,” she asked, deciding to go with Danielle’s old various 80s hits album. She clicked it into place just as the group arrived, giving Jane a chance to see their faces in their bike’s dying lights. Rachel Madden sneered down at her from the front, her wild blonde hair shoved into two pigtails with little blue butterflies framing her fringe. She was the worst of them all, the one whose face Jane had memorised once out of fear but now out of hatred. She lived at Coles with her, the only other girl who had been there as long as Jane, and knew how hard it was growing up as an orphan. Yet, Rachel made it her personal goal to make Jane Cole’s life a long and painful nightmare.

“You’re always alone,” spat a girl Jane recognised as Beverly Goldman, Rachel’s best friend, and pulled a face of disgust. “I thought you were kidding when you said she had no friends Rach.” She too was wearing butterfly clips in her red curls, and Jane began to notice how similar all the girls were dressed. They were like some sort of cutesy cult, and Jane found it rather funny.

“It’s rather sad isn’t it?” laughed Rachel, and Jane blinked up at them expectantly. Is this the best they had?

“So what brings you all to Poor Man’s Point this evening? Trying to find a new boyfriend?” asked Jane, reaching for her camera, when one of the other girls quickly dived for it as well. A second too late, Jane reached out to snatch it back but Rachel smacked her hand out of the way. The four bullies abandoned their bikes and crowded around the bench, a signal to Jane that it was time to go. It was all well and good using her words to defend herself but she _hated_ when it got physically. That was when things always went too far. 

“Why are you up here with a camera? Trying to perv on the hobos?” jabbed Beverly, eagerly walking around the bench to grab Jane’s backpack. Jane instinctively grabbed her skateboard and fastened her bag straps, watching the camera carefully. The thought of it breaking made her heart hurt a little but it didn’t compare to the shame she would feel telling Danielle what happened.

“Give it back,” she tried, knowing full well that it was futile. Always worth asking, right?

“How did you get something like this anyway? Did you steal it?” A girl with a bright yellow coat and sparkly rings piped up, handing it to Rachel who rolled her eyes. 

“No, that Greene woman, the Welsh one from the dump, gave some of her old trash to her,” said Rachel, clearly irked at Jane getting a little bit of attention from someone with authority. “It's all outdated crap anyway.”

“Then you won’t mind giving it back?” Jane tried again, this time holding her hand out. “Clearly it’s too rubbish for you to use…”

Rachel smirked and glanced at her friends, silent words being spread between them. Jane withdrew her hand and felt the hairs stand up on the back of her neck unsettling her more than their insults.

“Use it, Rach. Go on, we want to see,” urged the yellow coat girl, her eyes brightening with anticipation. The others nodded in agreement, moving an inch closer as though trying to get a better view. Jane swallowed a lump in her throat and turned to leave, thinking about stealing the camera back at a later date. There were only three pictures left on the roll anyways, a small loss compared to the pleasure of walking away unharmed.

A hand yanked her shoulder back, forcing her to stay. Rachel wanted her to stay, to put on a little freakshow for her friends. Jane shivered in discomfort, the feeling of oncoming panic growing inside of her chest. 

“You know, Danielle only gave you these things out of pity - she doesn’t like you,” jeered Rachel, her smile turning nasty. That one hurt a little.

“That’s not true,” Jane said matter-of-factly, but the stutter was there in her voice. 

“Yes it is, she only puts up with you because no one else wants to. I heard them say if they could kick you out they would in a heartbeat,” continued Rachel, not hesitating for a second. 

“Shut up,” growled Jane, tender at the thought of that being true. “You’re just jealous.”

They all burst out laughing, Rachel forcefully laughing the hardest. “Oh please! Greene gets _paid_ to like you. Why would I be jealous of a social worker? That’s so embarrassing!”

“Super embarrassing! As if anyone wants to be friends with a loser like you! She just feels sorry for you,” giggled Beverly, looking to her friends for mumbles of agreement. Jane scoffed and bravely took a step closer.

“I would rather be a loser than a horrible bitch like you!” She sassed back, scowling at the ginger girl whose stare grew malevolent.

“Don’t talk to her like that,” spat Rachel and she shoved the girl backwards. Jane stumbled but caught her footing quickly, the imminent fear of falling off the cliff flashing like an emergency siren in her mind. “You’re such a loser. You know why that is, right?” tried Rachel, but Jane kept silent.

“Runs in the family I bet,” chirped up the short haired tall girl from the back, trying to get her own insults in as well. “I reckon that’s why you got abandoned as a baby; your parents couldn’t stand you… maybe they killed themselves to get away from you. I mean, I would if I were them.”

Each word was a punch in the gut. Jane blinked hard and glared at the girl. “I’m sorry but who even are you? Do I know you?”

“No but I know you. _Everyone_ knows who you are,” the short haired girl spoke as if tasted dirt in her mouth. “The Coles kid with no friends, always doing something weird and unnatural. People like you belong in a circus, you know.”

“My mum said they found you in a ditch down the road, dumped by your parents,” snickered Beverly, “they should have drowned you in the sea when they found you.”

Rachel snorted and high-fived her friends. “You haven’t seen anything yet. Watch this,” she laughed, turning back to Jane. “It usually works if I get it personal, doesn’t it?”

The thunderous gale picked up. The girls zipped up their coats and shoved hands into pockets, yet Jane stood incredibly still, unbothered by the drop in temperature. Her chattering teeth grew louder with her thumping heart. _Don’t do it Madden._ Rachel’s sneer grew and she shoved Jane once more, this time climbing over the bench to stand face to face with her victim.

“Go on, freak, defend yourself. I know what you can do, that weird _satanic_ stuff. People like you should be locked up forever,” poked Rachel, riling Jane up. There was no point in denying it, thought Jane sadly; Madden was right. She could do things that were unexplainable and terrifying. It was no secret that the strange kid from the orphanage had been caught making her belongings levitate and fly without any aid - the freak label had followed her for as long as she could remember. She spotted the curled fists and bared teeth of her opposition, no doubt in her mind as to who wanted to make the first move. Jane shrugged and took a step forward towards her.

“Is that jealousy I hear again?” She questioned and Rachel gasped. 

_THWACK!_

Stars popped up in front of Jane’s eyes and she felt the ground beneath her. How did she end up on the floor? Her jaw throbbed, unsure whether it was painful from the freezing wind or Rachel’s punch. Was that really all she had?

“ _I am not jealous!_ Why would I be jealous of an ugly, lonely, weird orphan like you?!” cackled Rachel, emphasising her disgust with a quick kick to Jane’s legs. She blocked them and aimed one right back at her. Her knees buckled and the bully tumbled to the floor.

Jane smiled and tried to climb up off the stone path. “Oh please, you’re an orphan as well. Don’t pretend you’re any better than I am, Madden,” she snapped back harshly. “You’re just as unloved as I am!”

Rachel huffed and hurried to her feet, wiping the dust from her jeans. She immediately grabbed Jane by her coat collar, her fingers scraping her skin with ill intent, and dragged her over towards the cliff edge. She was much taller than Jane and used every inch she had to her advantage. Her friends’ yells of delight were carried off with the gale, but it didn’t take a genius to work out what they were screaming. 

“Go on Rach! We want to see it!”

Jane scrambled to unhook Rachel’s fingers from her jacket but her nails dug in deeper, like a vipers mouth clenched over its prey. She shoved her out towards the edge, and Jane’s knees began to wobble when her heels found themselves dangling over the cliff. Rachel stared menacingly at her, a smile growing on her lips.

“We could make it look like an accident, you know,” she threatened quietly, for Jane’s ears only. “One wrong move, they’ll say, thats all it could take to kill you. You’re always up here with that stupid skateboard so it wouldn’t be too suspicious…”

“Yes it will,” puffed Jane, still clawing at the hand holding her over the edge. “Danielle will know you did this. You’ll be scarred for life, my death will haunt you for the rest of your pathetic little life.” Rachel narrowed her eyes and pushed her out a little further. Jane gripped Rachel’s outstretched arm, her toes barely clinging onto the cliff’s edge. She didn’t dare look down at the sea below, at the pointy bed of rocks that would ultimately be her grave. Struggling to stay calm, Jane took a deep breath and tried to summon an unassuming expression. 

“Well?” Provoked Rachel, “aren’t you going to do something? Too scared to show off?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” said Jane through her gritted teeth. 

Rachel rolled her eyes and barked out in laughter. “Stop lying! You can easily save yourself with your freak powers!” Her friends jeered from behind her, booing and hissing.

“Let her go! She’ll save herself soon enough!”

“I’m getting bored, hurry up!”

Jane looked back to Rachel, she could feel her heartbeat in her neck. The blonde girl sneered and raised the disposable camera to her eye with her free hand, admiring the view.

“Rachel,” tried Jane, voice barely audible over the stormy winds, “you don’t have to do this. Please, let me go and we can forget this ever happened. You can keep the camera, just don’t do this.” Her voice was shaking, betraying how scared she really felt. She was beginning to feel sick as one of her feet dropped off the rocks. Rachel barely flinched.

“No, I don’t think I will,” she replied coolly, and she snuck a glance back at their audience. “Hey Bev - catch!”

It happened at once. Rachel threw the camera behind her, trusting that her friend would be ready. The red headed girl dived forwards and caught the camera, exuberant at joining the excitement. Jane cried out for help, her feet flailing and trying to catch something solid, but Rachel grew tired of the whole affair. She began to loosen her grip on the girl.

“Take our pic, Bev. I want to remember this moment for the rest of my life!” She exclaimed, glancing over her shoulder to see her cheering friends. Blinking the tears out of her eyes, Jane realised this was her only chance to escape.

“Oh you’ll remember this alright!” yelled Jane furiously, white hot anger bubbling up inside of her. Her eyes landed on Beverly and the camera and the bubbles began to spill over. She let go of Rachel’s arm and outstretched it towards the onlookers, Jane felt the bubbles burst inside of her, and it immediately took over.

The camera shot out of Beverly’s hands, shooting up into the sky like a small firework, flashing sporadically. Distracted and stunned, the group of girls gawked at the flying object, shouting and screaming at each other.

“How did she do that?!” One girl screeched, backing away.

“I told you! She’s a _freak_!” cried Beverly, her hands shakily pointed towards the hanging girl. “Rachel do something!”

“Wait!” yelped Jane, and bravely launched herself at Rachel. The two girls tumbled back safely onto the cliff, both pairs of legs dangling dangerously over the drop. Fingers and nails got tangled as they clawed at each other, knotting themselves in hair or scraping at each other’s skin. Rachel had managed to pull the girl off the ground by her ponytail, but quickly landed on her back after a swift kick to the back of her knees.

“Get her!” roared Rachel’s backup, all three girls pelted towards her as Rachel tried to crawl away, swearing loudly. 

Jane panicked.

“Leave me alone!”

All of a sudden, Jane felt her feet leave the pebbled ground. Multiple pairs of hands pushed hard against her shoulders and chest forcing her over the cliff, over to her death. Her breath caught in her throat and her limbs flailed about, trying desperately to grab onto anything to save her. Her mind froze, gravity pulled her towards the treacherous black water below as though preparing her for her last moments on this earth. Fear flooded her veins, rushing through her like the cold icy air of the storm, and her heart pounding harshly against her ribcage. This was it, this was the last time she would fall into the sea and never return to the surface. Jane always suspected her life would end like this.

The moment her body broke the sea’s surface was when nature fought back. The water began to foam angrily, spitting and growing as though Jane was made from peppermint sweets and the sea was fizzing soda. As the strong current pulled her body down bubbles hissed and shot upwards, loud and furious and alive.

The screams came first. The four girls cowering atop the cliff gawked at the bubbles and grabbed each other, tears and snot pouring down their faces from paralysing fear as they continued to panic. The wave had transformed and two gigantic black hands shot towards them, white sea foam hissing like red hot pokers in snow. Water slapped the cliff's head as the ocean’s fingers found their victims. The hands engulfed the girls, two in each palm, and pulled them roughly away from the cliff, washing them out into the air before dragging them into the dark depths of the ocean. Their shouts died out as sounds of thunderous waves replaced them.

The water quickly disappeared, trickling back down to its home below the cliff, taking the skateboard and racing bikes with it. Poor Man’s Point fell silent for the first time that evening, with only the rustling of the trees that circled the attraction filling the sad sea air. 

_PLONK!_

The disposable camera crashed onto the grassy surroundings, the plastic casing popping open as its corners collided with the floor. It lay there still for a moment as though it were waiting for a signal. Then suddenly it whirled to life for the final time.

From its lips came its last picture - four girls screaming in the grasps of two enormous ocean hands.


	3. The Book of Admittance

Danielle Greene placed her coffee mug on the table and tiredly held her face in her hands.

“I can’t believe I didn’t see it before,” she whispered to herself, rubbing her dry eyes. “I feel like an absolute  _ twat _ .”

Three dirty, beaten Polaroids stared back at her from the scratched kitchen table, evidence of the catalyst that had started Danielle’s stressful twenty-four hour shift. She wasn’t supposed to be at Cole’s for another couple of days but a frantic phone call from her boss Sandra had ended all prospects of a relaxing day-off full of cheesy rom-coms, red wine, and an Indian takeaway. The moment she heard Sandra’s wails through the speaker she knew something bad had happened and that Jane was involved.

Jane. Danielle could not stop thinking about poor Jane. Her attachment to the girl had started on her very first day at the orphanage and it never went away. Danielle had been so optimistic about working with the children at the home, so enthusiastic about making a difference in their lives and to aid in reforms within the social care system - she didn’t even  _ think _ to question whether her, no, her  _ parent’s _ world would make an appearance. Maybe that was why she was so taken to the small girl in the back, the one who spoke to no one and kept to herself.

Had it been magic all along? She wasn’t oblivious to the rumours that spread among the kids whenever Jane walked in the room, she had seen the school detention reports that had been sent to Cole’s. Jane wasn’t like the other children and it seemed as though she couldn’t hide it anymore.

“So dumb,” Danielle insulted herself, and took a moment to peak through her fingers, to analyse the now obvious facts.

The first photo was hard to decipher at first because its shiny film had grown grainy and cratered, as though someone had lit a match underneath it. The image was very blurry but she could just about make out a bird's eye perspective of Poor Man’s Point, a feat that no muggle could achieve with a cheap camera. Danielle had found this photo washing against the shore near the cliff’s coves.

The second photo was what gave her the initial thought of magical intervention. The salt from the sea had dried the film out and wrinkled the picture but it was still very obvious what she was looking at. Two hands the size of giants made from black water had four teenage girls clenched in its fists, each girl screaming soundlessly up at her in horror. She thought she had hallucinated the Polaroid at first when she found it at the cliff’s grassy peak, she had only ever seen photographs like these in her mum’s old school textbooks.

But the third picture, to Danielle’s dismay, was incredibly difficult to make out. The whole photo was pitch black, as though someone had turned the brightness all the way down. She picked it carefully, holding it in between two manicured black nails, and studied it closer. Still nothing, not even a speck of dust. This one mystified her the most as she had found it an hour ago in Jane’s coat pocket.

Jane. 

Danielle felt herself frown as she thought of the girl sleeping alone in that dreadful hospital bed, miles away from her bed in the smallest room at the back of the home. It was almost comical how apparent the others didn’t care for the girl, shoving her out of the way and into the shadows where no one would take any notice of her. “At least you get a great view of the moon in here,” she had told Jane once in an attempt to make light of her dingy room, “ _ and _ I think I could convince Sandra to let you paint the walls _.” _ She found it hard not to favour the girl.

Thinking of what baked goods she would get Jane in the morning, Danielle let the cold coffee touch her lips and she screwed her face up, immediately getting up to refill the rusty kettle that sat on the cramped kitchen side. She glanced out of the window into the bleak darkness and saw her reflection glare back. She looked exhausted with her dark textured hair roughly shoved into a knot on her head and her vivid purple cardigan sagging off her shoulders. She still had on her pajamas from the night before, a crumpled black and white polka dot set, sand and mud smeared all over them. She made a mental note to have a shower before retiring.

As the kettle’s steam began pouring out the spout, a single alarm bell echoed through the long crooked hallway beyond the kitchen's double arches. Danielle jolted in shock and swore as she sloshed hot water onto her slippers. Her heart began to race as she wondered whether she really had heard the doorbell chime or whether she was just sleep-deprived. Deciding it was best she checked regardless, Danielle headed to the front door, fresh coffee in her hands.

The lack of light was immediately apparent in the small entrance hallway, and Danielle slowed her soft steps. The street light beyond their porch wasn’t due to turn off for another hour… but her thoughts ran wild, each one more exciting than the next. She knew her visitor was out of the ordinary.

The front door clicked as she swung it open to reveal her guest, and Danielle instantly knew the man that stood before her. Her parents had described him perfectly, from his shining silvery hair to the brightness of his eyes, and even noting the small dangling tassels that hung from his sleeves. It was as though a character from a childhood fairytale had come to life, she had once begged her dad to retell the famous wizard’s’ stories before bed. A minute orb of light came from a metal device in his hands but it dimmed slowly while she caught her breath. Graciously, he bowed his head and gave her a warming and welcoming smile.

“I’m terribly sorry for visiting so late but it appears that something rather peculiar has happened, Miss Greene,” proclaimed the unexpected visitor, and Danielle gawked at him.

“Are you Professor Dumbledore?” She spluttered, unable to contain herself, and the old man smiled wider.

“It appears my reputation precedes me. Apologise Danielle I really should have sent a message ahead, you must be exhausted,” he confessed, and Danielle invited him into the home. He looked so out of place in the hallway, but she didn’t have time to ponder about aesthetics. A world-renowned  _ wizard _ had just turned up. How on earth did he know who she was? What was going on? She thought of the pictures lying on the kitchen table and felt a sense of relief roll through her chest.

“No worries Professor,” she assured him and pointed to the coffee, “I’ve still got another hour or so in me yet. What can I do for you?”

This seemed to satisfy Dumbledore and he gestured for her to lead the way. “If I may be so rude as to join you for some coffee, we may need to sit down for what we’re about to discuss.”

Danielle’s stomach fluttered excitedly. She was so right! “Not at all! Follow me.”

It was incredibly bizarre seeing Professor Dumbledore in the crammed, creaky kitchen, and she noticed how low he had to bend to accommodate his satin cap. She never thought she would see her heritage and her job mixed together, she was terrified at the thought of the muggles she worked with finding out she had a witch and a wizard for parents, but she found Dumbledore’s presence rather fitting. She had so many questions form in the back of her mind, she knew of his accomplishments and wanted to pick his brain with ideas ranging from absent social care legislations to why do wizards refuse to use pencils and pens. The polite professor busied himself with the messy children's drawings on the walls whilst Danielle prepared him a hot mug of coffee. 

“I’ve not been to Dorset for years,” began Dumbledore as he thanked her for the beverage. “The coast always has such an appealing smell, I’ve found that sea salt is rather refreshing for the soul.”

Danielle smirked into her drink. “Not very refreshing when it gets in your hair,” she countered playfully, shaking her tiny locs. “But nothing beats waking up every day to the sound of the sea.”

“Very delightful,” he agreed, and gestured to the table between them, “if I may I want to get right to the reason I’ve dropped by so late.” The pair took a seat and Danielle watched, amazed, as the professor reached into his deep cerulean robes and pulled out a pair of scaly black gloves. Danielle gasped and leant closer.

“That’s dragonhide,” she blurted out, and Dumbledore’s wispy eyebrows rose, impressed. 

“Indeed. These gloves haven’t been worn in centuries but I have been granted special permission by Hogwarts to use them from midnight until dawn - a very exclusive honour that we will not abuse hence my hurry.”

Dumbledore’s now gloved hand dove back into his pockets and produced a thick, dusty leather tome and gently placed it in between their mugs. Particles jumped into the air and danced before Danielle, but she stayed silent and watched Dumbledore find a particularly embellished parchment page. 

“Do you know what this book is?” wondered Dumbledore, glancing up at her. Danielle gazed into his shining eyes and wondered how many others fell prey to his powerful gaze. 

“Sorry, not a clue,” she answered honestly, and she never felt more like a Squib than right now. Her cheeks flushed but she tried not to betray her shame. Dumbledore offered her a kind smile and found his page. The black dragonhide book thumped on the table as he spun it around for Danielle to read. 

“This is the Book of Admittance, a book created by the founders of Hogwarts School where, as you know, I am headmaster. Every year the Quill of Acceptance that guards it will write down the children of Great Britain who have been born into magic,” he explained as Danielle gazed into its pages, admiring the beautifully scarring ink curling across the aged parchment. She noticed the years written at the top.

“This is a sacred artefact, it is indescribably essential to our world as it allows us to find and train every generation of wizards in order to continue our way of life. Your family’s names are written on these pages. The book and the quill are never wrong,” he reiterated, seriousness dripping from every word. Danielle took in his words and scanned the page when she noticed something that didn’t quite fit in. 

At the top in cursive black scribbles read ‘1979/1980’ with details spiraling from the title and spilling down the page where a list of names lived neatly in small rows. She felt her eyes begin to scan the list when she noticed one of the names had a small description trailing beside it reading ‘deceased’. Danielle rubbed her chin and frowned. 

“Do the names stay in the book if a student passes away before reaching Hogwarts?” she asked quietly and Dumbledore shook his head. 

“The names of the children that don’t make it to eleven are removed by the book,” he said matter-of-factly. “This is my predicament.” He looked on the edge of mourning and befuddlement, an expression Danielle would never associate with the grand headmaster. She let out a deep breath and glanced down at the name of the student who seemed to be both dead and alive.  _ Lyra Adelaide Black.  _

Danielle’s jaw dropped. She remembered her parents talking about the Black murders on that historic Halloween night. She had grown up hearing whispers about the torment her family had experienced within the magical community, something she had distanced herself from since she started secondary school. Being the Squib of the family was more difficult than Danielle would admit, and she tried to block all of the culture and news out once puberty hit - but this broke through. 

Dumbledore detected her familiarity and sat up in his chair, his elbows leant on the table. “So you understand my confusion.”

Danielle bent closer to the book and the name  _ Harry James Potter  _ stared back at her, more exciting nerves shivering through her body. She felt as though she was staring at a piece of history, something way beyond her quiet, little life in Weymouth. 

“Incidents like these are reported to the Ministry of Magic, so rare and complicated as they are, but to my surprise when I arrived at the Magical Law Enforcement Department to meet the lovely Amelia Bones I was made aware of a situation that occurred at the beach yesterday evening - seven o’clock to be precise. I heard of four teenage girls and a younger girl being involved in some very strong, very  _ serious  _ magic.”

Danielle’s stomach dropped and her knees knocked beneath the table. She looked over at the three polaroids shoved away to the side, and she nodded towards them. Dumbledore’s azure stare flicked to them and silently asked to see them. Danielle grabbed them and laid them delicately beside the large volume. 

“I found two of these at the beach and on the cliff this morning,” she told him, eyes glued to the three small photographs. “I don’t think the police or passerby noticed them, but I don’t think they would have shown themselves to strangers.” She pointed a glossy nail at the blank one and let out a soft sigh. 

“This one was on the victim,” she muttered, and Dumbledore’s expression fell gravely, coming to his own conclusions.

“The girls,” he continued to prod for information softly, “where were they found?”

Danielle took a long sip of coffee and began to recount the harsh reality that had been her day. Once Sandra had called her in hysterics, Danielle found herself jumping into her rusty silver Ford Fiesta and racing to the Weymouth South Coastguard Centre at the town’s beachfront where police cars and ambulances flashed wildly into the night sky and out to sea. Apparently two dog walkers had heard a group of girls screaming at the feet of Poor Man’s Point and had rushed to call the police, fearing the worst. After three hours of searching, men and women dressed ready to brave the cold depths of the ocean, they found four teenage girls hollering and screeching stranded on a small cove a mile down. They were in fits of paranoia, hallucinating giants made from water and hooded figures in the sea trying to drag them under with their boney hands. Worried parents were reunited with their children and Rachel was safe in Sandra’s care, and the teenagers were swiftly taken to the local hospital for a check-up. Danielle was told that the girls never mentioned a fifth person, but something didn’t sit right within her. She just knew Jane had been with them, and how terrified the poor girl was of the sea. 

Dumbledore’s face twisted and turned whilst she retold the tale, completely enthralled, and Danielle felt proud to hold his attention. She continued on and explained that she had begun her independent search for Jane, which was when she discovered evidence of Jane’s involvement - her green skateboard jammed behind a rock, her backpack full of her ruined possessions scrawled in the cave, the polaroids, and Jane’s instant camera lying broken on the cliff. It took her two and a half hours of driving alone down the coast and climbing steep dunes to the tiny secret shores tucked along the Jurassic coast. It was exhausting and temperatures had dropped as the morning tried to break through the threatening night sky, she ached all over and her wellies were ruined - but she found her washed up almost 3 miles from the Point. She looked so small and unimportant curled up against the foaming sea shore, sand and shells staining her sodden coat. Thick, black hair smothered her freckled face, like slimy seaweed choking her fair face of air. Her skin was bruising and turning a vague blue, and Danielle yelped when she saw her shivering - she was  _ alive. _ Without a second thought, she scooped up the girl and hugged her tightly, picking her up with extreme care in case anything was broken, and rushed to lay her on the untidy backseat of the Ford Fiesta. Fast forward a few hours later and Danielle was in an empty hospital waiting room waiting to hear of Jane’s condition, the idea of sleeping far from the front of her mind. She had let the home know what happened but still no one else came in support or worry. 

“It’s been an incredibly hard day, Professor,” she finished, tracing her mug’s swirly patterns instead of glancing at the man before her.

“Please, call me Albus,” he told her, continuing to inspect the evidence before him. He was speechless, merely stunned into silence as his mind ran with the whole story, going so fast he almost couldn’t keep up. “And it seems like you’ve handled it like an expert, you should be very proud of yourself. Thanks to you, that young girl is alive and well.”

The warmth of honour ignited her soft smile, taking in his praise. She never got praised by her colleagues when she successfully sorted out a sensitive matter and it felt so satisfying - but she wanted to press on with a plan of action. She wasn’t done yet. “What makes you think that Jane is the girl you’re looking for?” she asked, and Dumbledore took his own dramatically long sip of coffee.

“You see, I’m not one hundred percent sure myself. When I turned up to Amelia Bone’s office I had hoped to ask her whether she had any records of misuse of underage magic or anything that stood out as unusual, but that was when she babbled on about needing an emergency squad of Obliviators to attend a matter here. If anything it was a mere coincidence… but, like you, I had a feeling,” he smiled, and pulled out a long, emblazoned wand and lightly tapped it on the blank picture. It wiggled and light spread like paint drops through the blackness. 

They both peered down at it and saw what looked like two shadowy figures dancing beneath the ocean’s surface. As the photograph adjusted only one of the bodies became clearer - Danielle could have sworn it looked as if a dark, wispy shadow was holding Jane in its arms (were they arms? Some sort of limbs?). She let out a low whistle and looked to the wiser of the two. 

“Does that mean anything to you? That’s got to be magic,” her dulcet welsh accent felt stronger the tireder she felt but she pushed through. “There are rumours from the other kids that she can do very strange things.”

Dumbledore pressed the tips of his fingers together and lingered on her words. In theory it all adds up - but it was like an intricate riddle, growing more complicated the longer he thought about it. “Danielle, I want to be perfectly honest with you as you have been with me. I am known for my mind and all the wondrous adventures and discoveries it has given me, but I am utterly clueless on this particular tale. What you’ve told and shown me here tonight is very powerful magic, something that I have yet to uncover for myself no matter how hard I’ve tried to in the past. I don’t know what she did exactly but I will certainly find out and help her. This girl can do incredible things but what disturbs me is that before tonight both myself on Hogwarts’ behalf and the British Ministry had no idea of Jane’s existence. Her name is not in that book and there are no records of her birth nor any family relation. Luckily, I do know that muggles have a set of names they traditionally give persons found with no name. Am I correct?”

Danielle nodded, eager to help. “Spot on. Jane Doe is the common phrase and they stuck Coles on the end instead, adding in their own tradition. Ironic really, she is the most creative child,” she sighed, instinctively looking around the room for any of her paintings. Her heart panged when she realised there weren’t any. 

Albus nodded and seemed to physically relax, his posture molding into the chair. “This certainly is a start into unravelling this mystery. The Ministry were keen to pay you a visit themselves but I thought it best I offer as the headmaster of the school. The Law Enforcement department can be rather abrupt with serious situations, you wouldn’t have appreciated it after the day you’ve had,” he explained with a smile, and Danielle thanked him with a laugh.

“No black woman wants to see police turning up at their door in the middle of the night, magical or muggle,” she remarked, “it's appreciated. So, there’s a chance that Jane might be this Lyra Black? I thought she was killed?”

“Apparently not,” he countered, eyes twinkling. “Lyra Black’s body was never recovered, she was assumed dead after twenty-four hours of being reported and her father was convicted regardless. Her grandfather was the one who dealt the sentences and was quick to pronounce her dead. By coincidence, that was the last time I visited these parts.”

Danielle blinked hard. “They lived nearby?”

“No, quite a few miles west of this port,” he corrected, but his white eyebrows rose at her exclaim. “It is possible but I cannot imagine a two-year-old could travel that far on their own. How old was she when she came here?”

Danielle felt as though Christmas had come early. “The hospital confirmed she was two years old.”

“And where was she found?”

“A farmer found her in a ditch over the hill at the crack of dawn, heard her cries a mile away… and it was early November, I’ve forgotten the exact date,” she added before Albus could ask. 

Albus Dumbledore let out a peaceful sigh and rubbed his hands together with joy, puzzle pieces sliding with satisfaction into place. “Wonderful. Most wonderful. We mustn’t get our hopes up, of course, but it does explain the book’s mistake. I believe if we truly have found Lyra and her death is officially denounced then the book will be right once more. There are multiple ways to confirm her birthright but we will still need to gather as much evidence as we can to get this sorted before the start of term. Denouncing deaths comes with a lot of paperwork and I can only disturb Amelia Bones so much before she tells me off.”

“Can’t we just take Jane to the Ministry and get her tested?” wondered Danielle, not wanting to overcomplicate anything. Surely wizards had some sort of DNA testing?

Albus smoothed his beard and gently took her suggestion, hoping not to offend. “The process is difficult and could be traumatising to her, not to mention the Minister’s current obsession with the press, it would be rather nasty for a girl so young. It will overwhelm her straight away, the legacy that will follow her won't be easy.” He wanted to protect her as much as possible. “Word will leak and spread fast but she should be told before attending school. Children can be terrible, but adults can be worse.”

Danielle snorted, fully convinced. “Amen to that. Right, what do we need to do first? What evidence do you need? I can get it for you now.” She climbed out of her seat, excitement rushing all the way to her toes. The professor began to list off possible items that would contain pieces of the girl’s DNA, some strands of hair or a toothbrush, and Danielle immediately snuck through the house and into the smallest room at the back of the house. 

It was dark and cold, and moonlight beamed through the open window, the ratty curtains gently swaying. It was an utter mess, clothes strewn across the floor, scruffy paintbrushes shoved into everything that could be considered a holder, pages and polaroids pinned to the grey brick walls. It was the epitome of Jane, almost a personification of her soul. Danielle pinched her hairbrush and toothbrush from her desk, and turned to go when she spotted a used plaster covered in dried blood laying on her chipped dresser. It was disgusting, Daneille knew, but blood would be perfect.

Returning to the kitchen with her findings, Danielle scavenged through the cabinets and found Albus a clear plastic bag. She knew he wouldn’t appreciate having Jane’s unhygienic scraps rolling around loose in his pockets, especially next to the Book of Admittance. He seemed rather impressed with her stealings and he promised that Jane would receive replacements by the morning. 

“If everything comes back and it turns out she is Lyra…” Danielle trailed off, unsure of what to do once he was gone. The familiar sense of anxiety was beginning to return. Albus nodded and gave her the kindest smile yet. 

“Then I will certainly write you a letter ahead of my visit, I wouldn’t arrive unannounced in the middle of the night again,” he promised her with a quick wink, blue eyes sparkling with charm. “It would be best not to mention anything to Jane yet. If, by some divine intervention, we are wrong then I will return and we shall figure out a plan to support Jane regardless. I would like to meet her myself, she sounds fascinating.” He sounded overly sincere and Danielle couldn’t help but trust his word.  After a swift farewell, Danielle watched Albus Dumbledore stroll into the twinkling night, disappearing as suddenly as he appeared. She jolted when she heard the crack of Apparition, enjoying the lingering note in the night air that reminded her of her childhood. Once the locks were triple-checked, Danielle headed up the only set of stairs, creaking as she climbed, and finally retired to the staff quarters to sleep off her extraordinary day. Finally, someone else cared . 


	4. Owl Post

Jane stared out of her bedroom window at the rain pouring from an old oak tree at the end of the wild garden, completely bored at the sight of it. Pain shot through her wrist as she bent it awkwardly and she groaned loudly - she was also bored of being injured.

Summer was coming to an end and Jane had felt as if her last moments of peace before starting secondary school had been snatched from her, as though she hadn’t been punished enough. Danielle thought it best she stayed and played indoors while she healed from the incident. Jane protested loudly, pleading to get away from Rachel, but she couldn’t seem to disobey Greene when she tried her best to entertain and support her. 

“She’s out with those girls all the time,” Danielle assured Jane one afternoon over a game of chess, “besides she knows not to come near you, I’ve added to both of your cases about your relationship so you don’t have to worry about that.”

Jane let out a large breath and took Danielle’s last rook with her pawn, adding the chipped piece to the growing pile on the table. “Well… I don’t know whether you’ve noticed, but I’m sure you have as you can see my eyes have been looking particularly beautiful and not black recently, that Rachel hasn’t so much as looked in my direction let alone bully me in a couple of weeks,” she retorted blatantly, gesturing to her cheeks. “She’s acting like a robot! Maybe she doesn’t remember? Has she said anything to you about it? Share the gossip!”

Danielle snorted and observed the girl over the brim of her teacup, admiring her ballsy attitude. She found that Jane tended to keep to herself, she didn’t speak to anyone else beside Danielle, meaning that once she started talking it was rather difficult to get her to shut up. The sass, it seemed, came naturally to her and often got her into serious trouble. “Funny you should say that actually…” she told her with a small smile.

Jane blinked, put down her mug of steaming earl grey tea, and sat forward expectantly. “I knew it. So?”

“Her story hasn’t changed, Jane,” she replied with a shrug, “Rachel doesn’t remember a thing and neither do her friends. You know with safe-guarding I can’t share every detail with you but if anything I felt you should know about came up then I would have told you.” She felt bad reeling off those keywords, giving Jane another reminder of her situation, but the ghost of Dumbledore’s words gave her the comfort she needed. She was helping her.

Jane slumped back in the armchair and groaned dramatically, staring out of the misted conservatory windows and out towards next doors overgrown hedges, dark brows furrowed in annoyance. No police officer visited her in hospital to take any statement as she hadn’t been classed as part of the incident. Rachel acted as though Jane were a part of the furniture and her posse denied ever seeing her that day - like it didn’t happen. Jane felt herself frown, thinking hard. She couldn’t remember all the details but she remembered being thrown off Poor Man’s Point and drowning in the icy ocean. She felt as though she was slowly going insane, bit by bit losing her sense of reality. She didn’t dream it all, there was proof that  _ something _ happened, but it didn’t all add up. Jane had the puzzle pieces in front of her but she couldn’t move her hands. 

“Your turn,” prompted Danielle gently and Jane snapped back to the game, still quiet. They continued their game in silence for a moment, the rain tapping hard on the glass above them like nails on a typewriter. Danielle could almost hear Jane’s brain whirring away, buzzing with thoughts and theories on her summer events. Danielle’s heart fluttered against her lungs and she took a subtle calming breath. 

She had not received a letter from Albus Dumbledore yet and summer was almost over. Danielle knew from her father’s stories that the students of Hogwarts left on the first of September and were warned a few weeks in advance. With this case, Danielle assumed this was a unique situation, the acceptance letter would be late but the hopeful gap was quickly closing. It was the twenty-fifth of August and there was not a parchment in sight. Danielle felt her cheeks burn and she shuffled uncomfortably in the squashy, musty recliner. 

“Jane?”

“Hm?” Jane glanced up from the worn checkerboard, and Danielle took in her innocent grey gaze, her heart now racing nervously. 

“Out of interest, have you received any post lately?” She asked nonchalantly, smoothing back her thin brown braids out of her face. Jane chewed her bottom lip in thought for a moment and shook her head. 

“I never get post... so no. Why? Should I have gotten something? Is it about school?” Here came the questions. 

“Uh, no I just thought that you might have gotten your certificates from primary school through before the new year,” she lied, hating herself for bringing it up. It made her very uneasy lying to people, especially to children she worked with. The disappointment she saw on these kids' faces when promises fell through became overwhelming and unbearable, so a little white lie here or there caused no harm. Jane raised an eyebrow and gave her an odd look, not quite believing her, but dropped the subject regardless and knocked over another one of Danielle’s pawns. 

“Check.”

And here she sat, waiting for the fresh painting in her tatty sketchbook to dry, watching the neverending rain flood the fields. Jane huffed at her boredom and looked around her room for something to distract herself with. Her new (technically second-hand) school uniform hung on a hanger off the back of her door, a glowing purple jumper and a vomit yellow shirt with a ghastly pleated grey skirt that Jane knew would look awful over her scabbed, bruised legs. Her new school started on the seventh of September, a mere week away, and she was dreading it. Her body ran cold every time she thought of moving up in her education as it meant new rounds of freak rumours circling throughout the student body. Her stomach churred and she cringed, grabbing the uniform and chucking it on the bed. She scanned the room for her badges and grabbed some black thread she stole from the whiny middle-aged blonde carer Sandra. 

Jane smirked as she stretched out the sweater, deciding which of her thrifted badges were the most controversial. If she was going to wear this horrible uniform then she might as well make it even more of an eyesore. “Commitment to the craft,” she muttered to herself as if justifying her actions to the empty room. 

As Jane bit the thread she watched a great grey owl swooped swiftly past her window. She gasped and dropped the needle, losing all her hard work. She had never seen an owl before, let alone just outside the bedroom window she had gazed out of for most of her life. Jane jumped up and threw the window open, thrusting her head out of it in the hopes of catching the magnificent bird. She didn’t know owls could grow that large. Rain cascaded down her face as she searched around for the owl but she had no luck. Disappointed, Jane brushed her wet hair out of her face and returned to her craft project. 

With one badge securely stitched over the school’s emblem, Jane began searching for her pirate’s skull patch when she heard a set of hurried footsteps coming down the hall. She paused for a second in wonder and jolted when three loud knocks echoed around the tiny room. Only one person in the home knocked on her door.

“You can come in on one condition,” she called out, eyes still on the clothing. 

“And what’s that?” came the welsh voice.

“No comment about what I’m doing,” she bartered, picking up a rather vivid badge of a middle finger and giggling at it. “You have to trust my vision.”

Danielle walked in and immediately started tutting, joining her on the bed with the bizarre collection of accessories between them. “What is your vision with this? Getting detention on your first day?”

Jane shook her head and held the jumper up to the light, commending her own needlework. “It’s more of a statement. The vomit shirt is disgusting so I thought I’d make it look even more repulsive. Do you think the clown one would be a bit much?” she asked cheekily, and pointed to the biggest, oldest patch of the pile - a terrifying luminous orange clown face laughing. Danielle’s eyes shot open and she couldn’t stop her snort. 

“I can’t trust you with anything… what on earth…?” Danielle was stunned into silence, trying not to break out into laughter in an attempt to not encourage her but it was very,  _ very  _ hard not to with these novelty badges staring her in the face. 

“I knew you’d love it,” sighed Jane, and she looked up at her patiently. “Besides helping you with style advice, what can I do for you?”

Danielle took a moment to compose herself before looking her in the eye. 

Her parents had just sent her an owl for the first time in years - they always used the muggle postal system to send her letters, they would never risk sending anything their usual way. She found her brother’s grey owl Heledd outside on the porch’s railing, a sodden newspaper grasped in her sharp talons. She quickly gave her a stroke, buzzing as she thought of her baby brother who rarely wrote, and made sure no one saw her fly off into the rain and out towards the sea. She ran to the kitchen, knowing everyone in the home was occupied with the living room’s television for the evening, and unravelled the paper to reveal the damp  _ Daily Prophet _ ’s front page. 

**_Black from the Dead? Declared dead Lyra Black has been found alive and well._ **

Danielle’s knees knocked and she fell into one of the rickety dining chairs, winded and utterly gobsmacked. It’s true, they found her. Hands shaking the paper, Danielle rushed to read the article and felt her tongue dry up, the roof of her mouth rougher than sandpaper. 

_ ‘...It wasn’t until the involvement of Squib Danielle Greene, daughter of beloved writer Eric from our Entertainment section, that the Ministry were able to gain knowledge of Black’s whereabouts for the past 10 years. Despite the lack of magical potential, Danielle followed her dreams into muggle social-work and has been looking after Black for the past two years, no doubt she has plenty of exciting stories about discovering the young witch in her care…’ _

Someone had really done their research… but the tone rubbed Danielle the wrong way and she felt the heat of anger flush her face. She found the author of the article and scoffed, recognising the woman’s name from the papers before. She knew the  _ Prophet  _ was notorious for using seedy methods of telling the news and she shouldn’t have been surprised they were still stooping so low. Her father had mentioned the name  _ Rita Skeeter  _ many times during drunken storytimes. She seemed like the type of woman who wouldn’t think twice about exposing the personal life of an eleven year old girl.

Dumbledore’s letter came much faster than Danielle was expecting. The second owl tapped at the kitchen’s back windows, perching on the ledge waiting patiently. She thanked it and took the small scroll from its leg. 

_ Dear Danielle, _

_ Apologies for the rush but developments are happening as I write to you. The Ministry has finally pushed through our case and our presumptions are correct - Miss Black is in your care. Her death has been nulled and no doubt the evening papers are flying all across the country with the breaking news. Unfortunately during the acquisition of the case your name has been slipped to the press and I cannot apologise enough for not preventing any leaks, but I’m sure your father can tell you journalism is a power-hungry game.  _

_ Due to both timing issues and the seriousness of this situation I request that yourself and Lyra stay at the Leaky Cauldron inn in London as my guests. The arrangements have been made but Lyra must bring everything she will need for the school year. I will be arriving within the hour and shall wait for you at the end of the road, away from the other children’s eyes.  _

_ Hope you are well, _

_ Professor Albus Dumbledore. _

Both the letter and the newspaper wait on top of her packed overnight bag outside the door as she sat opposite Jane, thinking of how to phrase it. How was she supposed to start this conversation?  _ So we’re going to London tonight and by the way you’re a witch?! _ She was screwed.

“Did you just come to sit in silence? I kinda like that,” chirped Jane, continuing to sew on the badges, and Danielle drew up the courage she needed. 

“This is going to be really hard to explain but instead of joking about it I need you to humour me and listen,” she started off, needing to set ground rules. This sparked Jane’s interest immediately.

“Go on…”

“So there has been a dramatic change of plan to, well, everything. You don’t need to worry about this hideous jumper anymore because you have been accepted to a very special school,” explained Danielle, and Jane’s face dropped, all humour gone.

“When you say special school you don’t mean a school for troubled kids do you?” she spat out, slightly triggered at the thought of being shipped off to a mental asylum, and Danielle gasped. 

“Sweetheart no! It’s not that type of school! It's a brilliant school, actually, one of the best in the country. Coincidentally my family went there and I’ve always wanted to go myself,” she hurried to assure her, knowing the connection would calm her down. Jane looked quite impressed.

“How come you didn’t go there?” she wondered, and Danielle froze.

“Er… I couldn’t,” she truthfully told her, feeling a little blue at familiar pangs of envy. “The school chooses you, you can’t apply.”

Jane frowned. “That’s horrible, if it’s so great why does it exclude people who want to go?”

Danielle grinned. “It’s complicated. The point is that your letter got lost in the post and we need to prepare you for school in the next day or so. I need you to pack a bag of everything you want to take with you to school and I need you to do it now.” It was the best she could come up with on the spot and she thought it might be mysterious enough to keep Jane on her toes. She was right. 

Jane couldn’t believe her luck. She whirled around the room like a tornado and began chucking her pickings at Danielle to pack. Half the room managed to squeeze into the biggest bag they could find, a tattered blue sports bag covered in all types of paint and chalk. Pointedly ignoring her mess, Jane zipped the bag shut and quickly changed into her torn blue jeans, a black and green sports sweater, and a grey raincoat. Her patched green coat had to be thrown away and she was surprisingly thankful - it was terrible at protecting her from water.

Without saying goodbye to the other inhabitants of the home, the pair quietly exited the home and battled against the harsh wind and rain as they walked up the road. Jane struggled to match Danielle’s pace in the stormy weather but when she managed to catch up she noticed a slender, towering figure waiting at the lamppost that marked the streets end. Jane gawked as they got closer, taking in the appearance of the stranger. His clothes were peculiar but what caught her eye was that he was standing in the rain, as dry as fresh fluffy towels, unbothered by the storm. 

“Evening, Albus,” puffed Danielle, smiling warmly from beneath her coat hood, “this is her.”

Albus took in the sight of the girl and beamed, his smile stretching his beard in joy. She was the spitting image of her parents, truly the daughter of Black and Crouch. “It is an honour, Jane. We have so much to discuss, and I’m sure you will have a multitude of questions so let us begin our journey. Please stay away from the road.”

The girls watched as Albus outstretched his arm and saw a thin stick in his grip. Before Jane could ask her first question a booming crack shot through the air and she jumped back in fright as a vintage triple decker bus appeared from nowhere, its paint violent and its headlights beaming through the gloomy dusk. It rolled into the road before them and came to a sudden stop before the old man. He turned to them and ushered them towards the back entrance with grandeur where a spritely adolescent conductor waited for them, shock written plainly across his face.

“Alright? Welcome to the Knight Bus.”


	5. Chapter 4: From The Top

Jane physically couldn't comprehend what was happening. Her brain was refusing to unravel and process the revelations that had just occurred, dots were connecting but she just couldn't face the possibility that she _wasn't_ going insane. She always thought one day that she would crack under pressure and lose her mind but with Danielle at her side - it must be real.

The Knight Bus felt like a mystical portal to another dimension, a mixture of eras combining and clashing merrily inside the immense purple bus. A magnificent chandelier swung from the centre, a metal spiralling staircase enclosing it as it snaked upstairs where Jane could see rows of poster beds waiting for any sleepy passengers. Armchairs of various heights and colours lined the bottom floor and small rickety tables wobbled beside each row for extra comfort. Jane had never seen anything like this in Weymouth before, extraordinary things didn't belong in her town. She had been ostracized for accidentally doing weird things like fixing a broken toy without any glue or climbing up a cliff face with no rope but this was another world compared to her cheap tricks.

The elderly guide took charge and walked ahead towards the young conductor after suggesting they make themselves comfortable on the middle floor away from the prying eyes of the other passengers. Jane dawdled behind him, trying to absorb everything she could see before it was all over but quickly turned to find Danielle for some answers when she spotted a gentleman dressed in robes talking to what looked like a stick with arms and legs. A _talking_ stick. She had to leave or else her brain would explode.

As she climbed the stairs the whole bus lurched and fired off like a bullet down the road, and Jane quickly grasped the railings tightly getting used to the speed. No ordinary bus could go this fast. She noticed a pair of oddly dressed women whispering behind a flashing newspaper sharing a rose pink sofa near the front of the bus, and they kept craning their necks to stare at her. Her eyes bulged when she saw the front page move but she couldn't quite make out any headlines when Danielle called her over.

"Did you fall down the stairs?" she asked, worried. Jane rolled her eyes and took a rather squishy neon blue chair next to her, her eyes darting to the small moving portraits lining the walls. "It'll take a lot more than a bus to take me down," she replied confidently, trying to make Danielle smile. "Did you know about all of this before today?" she couldn't help but blurt out, her foggy mind finally clearing.

Danielle met her gaze with an honest grimace, "I'm afraid so."

Jane nodded and decided to keep quiet as their third party climbed up the stairs with ease, as though the bus was not travelling and lurching around at a hundred miles per hour. His sweeping beard brushed the carpet as he opted for the tallest leather chair facing his company.

"And now we are on schedule. I do hope this extravagant rushed entrance hasn't scared you," he chuckled, looking at Jane over his thin spectacles, "I can't imagine you've seen many triple decker buses magically appear in front of you before."

Jane couldn't stop the grin. It was magic.

"Not recently no," she couldn't help but joke, trying to quieten the anxiety pounding in her head. Danielle reached over and grabbed her hand, offering comfort in her sympathetic smile.

"I'm really sorry, I should have given you a better explanation but you honestly wouldn't have believed me," she went on to explain, "we wanted to get you away from Cole's as quickly as possible since there is a lot we have to talk about."

Jane nodded thoughtfully, she would have had a hard time believing Danielle knowing anything about magic and the surprise did spice up her boring day. "...true," she concluded, glancing at the man before her.

"This school that I've been accepted to," began Jane, guessing at the reason they were not alone. "I assume you've got something to do with this." She hesitated before adding "sir?" as the heat of shame burned in her cheeks, remembering her manners.

The man gave her another smile and sat forward, pulling a paper bag of sweets from his pocket. "Sherbet lemon? I find stories are rather dull without snacks."

The pair accepted the fizzing lemon sweets and the man began his formal introduction.

"My name is Professor Albus Dumbledore and I am headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. It came to our attention recently that you hadn't received your acceptance letter and I cannot say sorry enough for the delay. There was a unique irregularity in our attendance records and it has since unmasked a mystery that we simply cannot explain yet. I will tell you everything in much more detail when we arrive at your home for the next two evenings."

All Jane heard was 'two nights away from Cole's' and nodded enthusiastically at the prospect of unearthing her special secrets of being a witch. "Where are we staying?"

"The Leaky Cauldron," piped up Danielle, smiling at old memories, "I used to go there with my family whenever we visited London, it's a very popular spot."

Jane's stomach dropped. It sounded expensive. "Uh what about somewhere smaller? Maybe a cheap bed and breakfast?" She knew the home had minimal funding and the worry of being a burden came crashing over her.

"No need to worry, it's already been arranged and paid for," assured Dumbledore gently, and the crease on Jane's nose smoothed. "Everything you need for school will be taken care of tomorrow but again, we'll talk about it without peeping ears." Dumbledore's eyes flitted to the spying witches nearby and they quickly spun around, waffling on about the latest in flying fashion.

The Knight Bus continued to jump and jolt, racing all over the country to drop off its inhabitants, and Jane spent the lulls in conversation staring out the window. Through rain splatters she saw buzzing motorways, dark forests, old churchyards, and even an odd looking farm with fields of what looked like grey alpacas with luminous blue eyes. It became harder to see as evening came quickly.

"Next Stop - The Leaky Cauldron," called out the conductor, and the group prepared for their departure. As the bus lurched one last time, Jane risked not grabbing onto the railings of the stairs and tripped over her own feet, falling in a heap down. Hoping no one saw, she quickly jumped up and rushed off with her bag, blushing violently as she avoided the stares following her off the bus.

The noise was the first thing Jane noticed. Central London was thriving with life, lights blaring and flashing, car horns and distant bar music filling the air as the trio watched the purple bus race off into nothingness, on its way to the next far off destination. She had been to London once before on a school trip, but nighttime in the city felt way more exciting.

"How do you summon the Knight Bus?" asked Jane immediately, and Dumbledore pulled out his wand. "If you stick your wand arm out and wish for transport, the bus will know what to do," he said, gesturing for his guests to follow. "It is very useful if you're stranded somewhere, potentially life-saving some would say."

The group crossed the busy road, hurrying to escape the rain, and the Professor led them towards a particularly grimy store front and in through its black, beaten door. With the rain pouring down her face Jane couldn't quite inspect the street but could feel the immediate warmth from whatever lay beyond the door.

She stepped inside, shook the water droplets from her head, and gasped at the pub before her. It was heaving with witches, wizards and weirdness galore. Laughter and loud conversations travelled around the vast pub like a hearty song, spreading around gossip and gallivanting tales of adventure. Candles floated like clouds above heads, never once spilling a drop of wax, thick clouds of smoke danced in the air around the large party of goblins and men, and the smell from the food coming from the kitchen made Jane's stomach twirl in longing. She immediately fell in love with the pub.

It didn't take the room long to acknowledge the newcomers but they never quietened. Whispers and trading rumours spread through the crowds and Jane felt Danielle's hand on her shoulder.

"Let's go upstairs," she whispered, guiding her through the hubbub to where Dumbledore had found a set of crooked stairs leading up, not looking anywhere but at the girls.

The parlours in the Leaky Cauldron were very old, they hadn't been redecorated in centuries. The wooden floors were very creaky as the trio entered, closing off the outer world as they dried off from the awful rain. Jane hung her raincoat over the ancient radiators and glanced out the window to the oblivious streets below feeling for the first time safe and secure.

"Don't suppose we could have a brew?" Wondered Danielle, tying her honey braids up out of face with a pretty smile. Professor Dumbledore agreed wholeheartedly and began to settle into the leather settee opposite a roaring fire.

"Inspiring idea, I believe a tray is on its way as we speak. I've notified Tom the landlord that you both have missed your supper so food will be arriving after our chat," he disclosed, and he looked to Jane who was still standing across the room, gazing out the window. "Would you like some tea, Jane?"

She jolted and turned with a small smile, deciding to join them in front of the fireplace. "Earl Grey please."

After a quick introduction with the arrival of two blazing teapots, Jane watched Tom the landlord flash her a welcoming toothless grin as he left. He seemed very reserved but she noticed his darting glances her way, as though waiting for her to do something spectacular.

Professor Dumbledore sat forward in his seat and began pulling out documents from his hidden cloak pockets. Parchments of different colours and thickness fell to the table in neat piles and Jane could feel Danielle's gaze on her face. Her heart started racing nervously, wondering what was about to happen.

"What we are about to discuss may be difficult for you to understand at first but I made a promise with myself to tell you all I know. You deserve to know what happened to you regardless of what anyone else tells you. This is a very sensitive matter and if you would like me to stop at any point then please exercise your right," said Dumbledore, looking at the young girl. She nodded and sat upright, leaning forward to peek at the documents.

"In order to comply with the International Statute of Secrecy you must not tell anyone at Cole's about this. Danielle is aware and already a part of the Wizarding community so she will be our point of contact for you," he explained, and Danielle nodded sternly, immense pride written on her face.

"Wizarding community," repeated Jane with another weak smile. "That means I'm a witch."

Dumbledore nodded. "Precisely."

A rush of memories flooded Jane for a moment, each magical outburst finally making sense. She wasn't a freak. "How did you find this out?" She asked, wanting to double check before getting her hopes up. "How do you know I'm a witch?"

"That question will be answered in due time, I will try to keep this in an order that is easy to digest," promised Dumbledore, sapphire eyes twinkling as he picked up a dense letter and offered it to the girl. "We will begin with this."

Jane took the letter with a muttered 'thanks' and read the emerald ink scrawled on its front. _Miss L.A. Black._ Her stomach plummeted and her nose crinkled uncomfortably.

"That's not-," she went to say but both Albus and Danielle shook their heads, smiles hidden as they watched her.

"It will make sense, go on," encouraged Danielle, sipping her tea with caution. The ripped envelope fell into her lap and Jane carefully read every word.

_Dear Miss Black,_

_We are pleased to inform you that you've been accepted to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry._

The rest of the letters' contents were a blur, information refusing to stick in her mind. Her steel grey eyes reread the opener and she could feel her heartbeat thump in her ears. _Miss Black._

"Your real name is Lyra Adelaide Black and you were born on the thirty-first of October nineteen seventy-nine," announced the headmaster, his age reflecting in his voice. Jane stared blankly at the letter but listened to Dumbledore's every word.

"You have been presumed dead for the past ten years, no one knew of your whereabouts until a few weeks ago when Danielle and I met for the first time," he told her.

"When was that?" She pressed, but Danielle's sorrowful expression gave her the answer. "Oh. Madden." She tugged at her sleeve, hiding the bandage wrapped around her wrist sprain, and tried to pinpoint some sort of image of what happened. Nothing yet again.

"You conjured some very serious magic that day and the Ministry were alerted of your existence via a new Trace. Your birth name was still in our school registry and together we deduced that you could be our missing girl despite the death proclamation. Her body was never found and the proximity of your hometown and the Black residence made our case believable… concerning, but still very believable."

Jane placed the letter on the table and looked to the professor at the mention of the Black house. The Black family. _Her_ family. She had dreamed of this moment her entire life, the prospect of being reunited with her loved ones was every orphans fantasy. But she had a feeling deep in the pit of her torso, it was too heavy and dull to ignore. If she had a family, surely they would be here to greet her, to welcome her back with open arms and warm hugs. Shouldn't she be in her family home, not in some shabby pub?

"Unfortunately our plight was leaked to the press and the national papers have printed your tale. The night you were lost is historic and our world will be curious about this unexpected outcome. You see, Lyra," a light switched on inside of Jane and it felt very natural, "the Black family are very well known in our world. You are the heir of one of our oldest pureblood families and no doubt everyone will want to know why and how a pureblood witch has been living as a muggle."

At Jane's confusion Danielle piped up with an explanation. "Non magic folk."

"Are you a muggle?" asked Jane quickly, and Danielle shook her head.

"I'm a Squib. My parents and brother are magical and I'm not," she said as though talking about the weather, and Jane felt a rush of sadness realising why Danielle couldn't go to Hogwarts.

"But it's not going to be a big deal that I don't know anything about the wizarding world though, right?" stuttered Jane, taking a large gulp of tea just to do something with her hands. The Professor smoothed a create in his cerulean robes and clasped his hands together. He looked as though he was battling between two thoughts, he was choosing his words carefully with her, Jane knew this for definite. She had a lot of experience reading people, too much practice at staying quiet in the corner observing.

"The story that the newspaper _The Daily Prophet_ will bring a new kind of audience to you my dear, and everyone will have their own opinion despite the fact you are only an eleven year old girl. It saddens me deeply that you have been broadcasted like this without any prior knowledge," admitted Dumbledore, and he shuffled around the parchment on the table until the hefty broadsheet flashed through the mess.

"I will give you this to read at your own pace tonight," he offered, creating her a small homework pile and Jane actually felt giddy at the thought of having something to do. "I assume you will want to be prepared before you start school."

Jane summoned a grin, agreeing with an enthusiastic nod. "I know a thing or two about bullies and I have been lacking material lately. I can't walk into battle not knowing the slang. Do you have any books on popular culture?" _Worth a shot,_ she thought.

"There is a wonderful bookstore in the alley beyond the pub," said Dumbledore, "if you want to brush up on your Wizarding history I can recommend you some light reading." He seemed delighted at her curiosity, a trait he had expected her to possess. Jane cringed and shook her head.

"I don't have any money," all excitement had dropped from her voice. "Sorry sir."

"Well I'm thrilled to say you're wrong on this occasion," replied the headmaster coolly, sliding a small gold key across the busy coffee table towards her. Jane saw an emblazoned brass 'B' on its handle and picked it up for a closer look. "That is your key to your father's family vault. You are underage so you do not gain full access to your other vaults but this is all the boring admin that you'll be interested in when you turn seventeen."

" _Vaults?! More than one_?" recounted Jane, eyes bright and wide. "As in lots of money?"

"You are incredibly lucky, Lyra. Your parents made sure you would always be well prepared and looked after. Due to your age you do have a limit on how much you can access but you have nothing to be worried about."

Another heartache. _Lyra… your parents._

"My parents…" she echoed, "who are they? What happened?" She finally braved the question, the one they were all expecting. Danielle had guessed it would have been one of the first out of her mouth, and Albus cast his attention back to the Ministry earlier that day where boundaries were set by someone neglecting their duty to get involved with the recent discovery.

"I'm telling you this because you deserve to know," he warned her, pausing once more to top up the mismatched teacups on the table, a plate of frosted biscuits lay beside it untouched. Danielle had resorted to nibbling her manicured nails out of dread for the girl's reaction.

"Your mother, Giselle, was allegedly murdered by your father Sirius, on your second birthday. Everyone assumed he had killed you too because no one could find any sign that you were there. Simply disappeared like smoke in the air. Your father is currently serving a life sentence in the wizard prison called Azkaban but this news will not reach him - a special request from Hogwarts for your protection since you will be in our care for the next seven years," he told her, careful enough to keep a slow pace.

Coldness crawled inside of Jane's chest, all cheer evaporating from her pores. Her eyes began to prickle, stinging and threatening to water. She hated crying in front of other people, she would try and hold it together until the privacy of her bedroom.

"Everything isn't black and white in the Wizarding world, Lyra, you will come to discover this for yourself but I want to give you one thing to remember, something that I have to remind myself of now and then. The line between light and dark is incredibly thin, and it's up to you to find that out. Your fate in this world isn't decided for you and the best part is that you have the free will to make your own choices. Don't let your family or your blood purity define you."

The fire's crackles were soothing, matching the patter of rain on glass perfectly. Danielle slurped her tea, looking to the headmaster in order to give Jane a moment to dry her face. She hoped that they were almost finished, they needed an early night after these intense revelations which Jane needed to come to terms with before she departed. Her welfare was her main priority and she wanted to make sure she would be okay.

"Is there anything else I need to know or can be excused to my room?" mumbled Jane, features drooping sadly. Professor Dumbledore wasted no more of her time with difficult family tidings and presented Jane with two documents and a stubby orange quill.

"There still is the matter of your name. If you wish you can refuse your birthright and continue to attend Hogwarts as Jane Cole, or you may change to Lyra. Again, it is your decision," he proclaimed in his most professional manner, and Jane's jaw dropped.

"No question about it - get rid of Jane. My name is Lyra," she decided immediately, eager to desert her muggle persona and starting afresh. She saw the Professor smirk beneath his moustache and she signed messily on the dotted line. Warmth tingled through her fingers and she admired the way her name looked written down - a perfect fit.

"And finally, all we need from you now is your credentials on the nullification of your death certificate," concluded Professor Dumbledore, another warm smile sent to his guests. "As soon as we have your confirmation then it will be legally correct."

Lyra added another golden scrawl on the parchment before her and saw the title change from a deep emerald to a glowing crimson. She went to hand it back but the headmaster shook his head.

"It's all yours," he said holding his slender hands up, "nulled death certificates are very rare to come across."

Lyra appreciated the incredulous idea from the Professor and happily accepted the document alone with her late night readings. Maybe she could frame it? Or would that be a step too far? She'd come back to that later.

Ends were tied and the headmaster of Hogwarts finally felt as though he had the upper hand in the situation. He took to his feet and thanked the girls for their time, wishing them a peaceful day of shopping ahead. They departed the parlour and trailed up a set of crooked wooden stairs towards the pub's accommodation. Lyra approved of the quirkiness character of the place, with its babbling portraits of merry monks and whispers carrying through every mirror she passed. They arrived at rooms four and five without losing their way and bid Professor Dumbledore a farewell.

"A pleasure Miss Greene, please send my regards to your parents," he topped his pointed hat towards Danielle, "and thank you for all your help." She blushed furiously, tongue tied. She couldn't wait to write to her mum and dad, they wouldn't believe this.

He looked at Lyra once more and saw her ancestors in her face. She had her grandmother's freckled nose, her mother's bright smile, her fathers grey eyes; the perfect reminder of those that came before her. He had hoped she had inherited her parents' Gryffindor streak, another unconventional pureblood opposing the purity norms and he was indisputably on the right track. Unpredictable and mysterious weren't traits he was keen on but it was going to be fascinating watching everything play out with her this year. He thought of another student and lost his original musing.

"Lyra Black, it is an honour to meet you. Until Hogwarts, stay safe," said Dumbledore tiredly, bowing lowly and taking her soft hand in his. She shook it firmly and held up his papers in her free hand with a rather impish smile.

"The next time you see me I'll be a whole new person, I'll know what," she glanced at the top sheet, "Quidditch is."

With a hearty laugh, the headmaster of Hogwarts departed the pub and the girls retired to their bedrooms.

"I'll be downstairs from ten o'clock, you deserve the lie-in," instructed Danielle as she stood in the doorway of room four, watching Lyra happily inhale the plate of cheesy hot pasta that Tom had dropped off moments ago. "And do try to get a decent night's sleep - no staying up past midnight please," she told her with a pointed finger. Lyra hid her smirk with another forkful and gave a strong nod.

"...sure."

"We've got a lot to do tomorrow so promise me you will try and sleep," Danielle continued to press and Lyra eventually gave in, knowing she was right. The excitement of what was to come pumped through her veins and she was itching to start reading the article that had everyone's attention. That would explain the nosy punters downstairs.

"I promise," assured Lyra, watching Danielle leave. The bedroom felt huge without another person but it didn't stop her from enjoying the space. She ran and jumped onto the four poster bed and it's frame creaked sending shivers down its spine. With the parchment from Dumbledore pooled out in front of her, Lyra lay in her stomach and unfolded the vivid, flashing newspaper.

Her own face surprised her on the cover and sickly rolls of shame vibrated through her. Luckily it was only a small photograph, taking up the bottom corner of the page, but she would have preferred to stay anonymous for as long as possible. Secondary school was going to be hard anyway and not only was she studying _magic_ but she now had a reputation that precedes her.

And yet a part of her, a part that was growing bigger every day, couldn't wait to introduce herself to the Wizarding world.


	6. Chapter 6

From the moment she woke up, Lyra felt a change in the world. It was a completely new feeling, waking up and not dreading the coming day, and she knew she would have to get used to it.

She spent most of her morning lying in the roomy double bed, revelling in her first full night's sleep in a very long time. The bed at Cole's had a deep dip in the mattress and she had gotten very used to twisting in the middle of the night and feeling springs pierce her back waking her up immediately. No one had bothered to act on her many complaints but she made a mental note to replace the mattress herself the moment she returned to the dump next year.

 _Next year! A whole year away from Cole's!_ Lyra squealed in excitement and stretched her limbs out on the bed, fully basking in its softness.

Her foot kicked the abandoned pile of parchment off the bed, sending them fluttering unhelpfully across the floor, and Lyra crawled off the bed to gather them. She had stayed up later than she would have planned going through the newspaper last night, trying to cram as much information into her overwhelmed brain as she could handle before passing out. It was incredible, she never thought she'd catch herself reading a newspaper before yesterday, but she couldn't get enough of the strange articles. So far she had learnt that centaurs and vampires existed, Quidditch was a sport that involved broomsticks, and that the potions community were experiencing a mugwort drought due to the unusual storms in eastern Europe interrupting imports. She was enthralled, pining for more pieces to read about her new world. She had always considered herself a bit of a bookworm (not having friends tended to leave you with no choice but to socialise with fictional characters), but the thought of being a teacher's pet made her feel physically ill - Lyra was more of the 'sent-to-the-headteacher' type. Still, her recommended reading list from Professor Dumbledore lay on top of the dresser as her top priority as she began to get ready for whatever awaited beyond the bedroom's door.

Examining her clothes, Lyra realised how dull everything she owned was compared to all of the witches and wizards' whimsical clothing she had seen and she tried to pull together a look that screamed she belonged. She opted for the ugliest shirt she could find, her paint splattered black dungarees, a pair of black, scuffed boots, and all of the necklaces she found rolling at the bottom of her bag. Her thick, black hair sat in two knots on top of her head and she decided to experiment with some glitter to add to the dramatics - Lyra could never pass up an opportunity to be incredibly extra.

She found Danielle downstairs in a cosy corner of the pub, picking at her porridge as she scanned the latest _Daily Prophet._ A few early risers couldn't help but stare at Lyra as she crossed the room but if anything she felt encouraged by them, they were another reminder that this was all real. The mood was a lot quieter compared to the previous evening, but the atmosphere still brought smiles and happy chatter to the patrons.

"What time did you go to bed?" questioned Danielle immediately, passing her a plateful of toast and a selection of jams. Lyra's teeth tried to bite away her smile and she shrugged, taking the seat across from her.

"I dunno but have you heard about the Kappa scandal over in Yokohama? It's insane! Apparently some muggles-," began Lyra, spreading butter on her breakfast and Danielle sighed incredulously, slamming the newspaper down.

"Lyra! Really?! I should have taken those papers away from you last night," she scolded, giving her a disappointed frown, but Lyra shook her head.

"And deny me my right to learn about the wizarding world before attending school? Wow Danielle," she placed her hand over her heart, "that's really cold."

Danielle waved away her sarcasm and offered her some fresh tea. "Don't be silly, we have a lot to do today and I don't want you passing out on me. I guess it was too optimistic of me to assume you'd sleep after everything that was said. How are you feeling this morning?"

Lyra sipped her steaming drink and decided to be serious for her support worker's benefit. She was still stunned from the hardest revelation, she couldn't bare to dwell on her mother's murder, but she felt strangely settled. Maybe it was the new name, it had given her a different view on life. She felt like she could do anything. "Honestly I feel great," she admitted with a small smile. "The last time I felt this happy was when you joined Cole's."

This was music to Danielle's ears. Lyra's welfare was still her number one concern.

She gave the girl's small hands a quick squeeze and removed the newspaper from the table, replacing it with a rather extensive shopping list. Lyra stared at it and felt a rush of nerves fill her stomach when she saw the word 'wand'. That was the thing she was looking forward to most.

"Before we can start crossing things off of the list, we need to go and withdraw your money," she explained, tapping her sharp fingernails excitedly on the parchment. "Do you have your key?"

Lyra tapped her dungarees pocket, sending her a wink, and Danielle suddenly took in what the girl was wearing. She scoffed, shaking her head so hard that her long braids started swinging. "What on _earth_ are you wearing?"

"What do you mean?" sighed Lyra, deadpanned, "is this not the best outfit for a day's shopping?" She stood up and did a slow spin, forcing Danielle to fully examine her style choices. It was very clear that Danielle found her outfit revolting, but she wasn't that surprised. Danielle's outfit today consisted of an ironed, crisp caramel plaid jacket and its matching pencil skirt, the whitest turtleneck sweater Lyra had even seen and a small leather handbag. She looked impeccably professional and fashionable, Lyra couldn't deny that, but that wasn't a personal concern of hers.

"Sweetheart I'm only saying this because I care - you look… questionable." confessed Danielle in her sweetest voice. "You're a very pretty girl and this isn't doing you any favours."

Lyra glanced down at her outfit and shook her head in strong defiance. "Looks aren't important I'll worry about that later," she countered factually, "Besides I'm a witch now - I think I fit in perfectly!"

Danielle pursed her lips playfully and gathered up their belongings. "If you're happy wearing that then I'm happy too," she told her although her expression suggested otherwise. "Is there any way I could persuade you to take a trip into muggle London to replace your wardrobe? We don't have to buy second-hand anymore."

"But I've transformed all of those charity shop clothes into pieces of art!" defended Lyra, hurrying to finish her food as she was dying to get out and explore the supernatural side of the capital. Danielle pulled a face and tried to hold the attention of the grey eyes before her - this was a serious matter.

"Please don't tell me you packed that awful clown badge," she begged, and Lyra merely shrugged.

"...Perhaps," she mumbled, giving her best attempt at looking innocent. Danielle hung her head in defeat and stood up, straightening her crinkled jacket.

"Lord give me strength," she mumbled to herself and ushered the smirking girl towards the back doors, leading her into a tight, neglected courtyard. Lyra noticed the sun for the first time that summer as she stared up at the patchy blue sky, feeling the warmth on her face. Slipping past a group of empty barrels, Danielle shuffled through the parchments and found the appropriate diagram Dumbledore had left her. Without a wand it was rather difficult to get through to the shopping district and she had never visited without her parents before so this was a new experience for both girls.

"If my clothes offend you that much then fine, we can go clothes shopping," decided Lyra as she waited, glancing up at Danielle. She knew her support worker was right and just trying to help. "It's just a shame you don't recognise true taste."

"As much as I adore your creativity, Lyra, other people at school might not and I'm just looking out for you. You'll have a hard time making friends when they have to have their eyes assaulted every time they look at you," said Danielle, tapping the final brick. As the wall shuddered and began to melt away, she stroked Lyra's head hoping the affection would soften her words. The pair always spoke honestly with each other, it was how Danielle gained Lyra's trust when they first met and it had kept their relationship tight, but she prayed she didn't hurt the girl's feelings with her brash opinion. She was only looking out for her.

"I mean, you're right..." Lyra acknowledged quietly, "but I hadn't even thought about the 'making friends' part of - IS THAT AN ELF?!" She cut herself off with a yell of surprise as she noticed Diagon Alley stretch out before her, twisting and turning out of view. Shoppers of all kinds roamed the streets, filing in and out of vibrant shop fronts or milling about chatting in groups with arms carrying paper bags, and an array of mesmerising aromas wafted through the air calling customers to it with enticing promises of fresh food. It was more enchanting that she imagined. Lyra gazed at the nearest group of wizards, three elderly gentlemen who glared over at the sound of her screams, and watched as the small, shy elf cowered timidly at their calves, bulbous eyes darting around. She was fascinated but she fought down the urge to go over and meet the fantastical being, the elf's company looked as if they would turn her into a chicken if she dared to address them.

"That's a house elf," informed Danielle as she dragged the girl away from the men's disapproving stares, "its very rare to see them outside of their master's house, they usually stay indoors."

"Aren't I lucky," joked Lyra, looking back at the nervous elf. They looked rather uncomfortable being out in the open, and it made her feel slightly uneasy. "Does every family have a house elf?"

"No, it's more of a pureblood practice. They serve a wizarding family until their death," said Danielle, leading her through the slim gaps in the crowds quickly. She had spotted a few eyes following their footsteps and the whispers were coming thick and fast.

"That sounds a lot like slavery," frowned Lyra, confused at the analogy, "elves are really interesting creatures, they possess very powerful magic. Have you not read _Lord of the Rings_?!"

Danielle tried not to smile too widely at her comparison. "I think the bookshop will be our first stop after the bank - the muggle idea of magic isn't very accurate."

As they passed the icy cold storefront of _Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour_ , Danielle saw the familiar gold newsstands scattered in between each shop, pulsing the latest news headlines for passersby to read. It wasn't long until one of the headlines caught Lyra's attention, and she cringed.

"Do you reckon I'll get a free copy since I'm on the cover?" she wondered out loud, and Danielle wrapped an arm around the girl's shoulders, steering her away from the shouting paperboy who had drawn a few curious onlookers.

"We have no time for mischief, come on," said Danielle, and as they turned the corner the great bank loomed over them, its white marble exterior glittering in the sunshine. Lyra gasped and rushed ahead, spotting a group of nattering goblins enter through the grand doors straight ahead, and she pulled Danielle behind her wishing she would walk faster.

Gringotts reminded Lyra of a dragon's cave - a vast, cold chamber that echoed endlessly where goblins and people alike spoke in soft tones, the marble walls glistening with ruby reds, deep golds and silvers as coins and treasures were exchanged and examined. Lyra let Danielle take the lead and followed her to the very end of the huge room where they found a particularly wrinkled goblin guarding a small, dusty podium. They took one look at their new arrivals and slipped on a pair of smudged spectacles, opening the thick tome on his desk.

Danielle cleared her throat and went to ask for help when Lyra took over, stepping in front of her with a smile.

"Please can I withdraw some money from my vault?" she asked sweetly, giving the goblin her best smile, and he blinked down at her.

"Is this your first time withdrawing gold?" croaked their bank teller, and she nodded.

"Yup," she replied, digging into her pocket for the key. "Here you go."

The moment the goblin noticed the brass 'B', his non-existent eyebrows shot up and he grabbed blindly under the podium for an even larger book, replacing it with a slam. The bang reverberated of the walls, drawing the attention of a few of the bank's inhabitants. Lyra tried to peer over the desk to try and read the pages but it didn't take her long to spy the familiar family name.

"We've been expecting you, Miss Black," announced the goblin after he found his place in the text. "As per the law, there is a limit on what you can acquire at this age but you will be informed by Gringotts when you can start accessing your entire inheritance. As you are joining a rather extensive unit of longtime customers, I have no doubt that you'll be rather overwhelmed when that time comes but we do offer support services here." Lyra soaked up every word, trying to pick up any technical terms as he continued to read out additional terms and conditions. It was rather a lot of information to receive all at once and she started to question whether anyone else her age was as naive as she was.

"I'm really sorry," interrupted Lyra politely, "but I don't suppose you have any pamphlets with all of this in?" She earned another one of the goblin's slow blinks and he sighed.

"Indeed we do but they are reserved for muggle-borns," he informed her, visibly sizing her up.

"Does that mean I can't have one?" she asked blankly, and Danielle took another deep breath, hiding her smile behind a strategically placed hand. It was common knowledge to not question the temperament of a goblin and she was intrigued to watch how they would react to a cheeky eleven year old.

"No. We do not give them out to purebloods. We see no reason," he explained, his voice dripping with derision.

"But that makes no sense. What about purebloods who come from a muggle background? Can't you offer them to everyone?" she shot back, feeling rather eloquent as she used her new vocabulary.

"That's not how this works. That is an occurrence that we have not experienced so cannot respond on the matter," he sighed back, "No pureblooded wizard comes from a muggle background."

Lyra shook her head, pointing to herself. "Surely you've seen the news? Can't you make an exception?" she pleaded, trying not to annoy the bank teller too much. His frown was deep but he couldn't look past her logic.

"Which pamphlet would you like, Miss Black?" he asked, pulling a bunch of folded parchment from beneath the desk, and she clapped her hands together excitedly.

"I'll take the lot!" she beamed, to the goblin's disapproval. Danielle pinched the bridge of her nose and scolded herself for not bringing a bigger bag as Lyra turned to her with a huge armful of multicoloured parchment.

* * *

Just as Danielle predicted, the shopping trip took up the entire day thanks to Lyra's excessive need to visit every single shop in the alley. She didn't realise just how much equipment she needed until they dropped off their third load of packages to her bedroom in the pub and Lyra couldn't resist tipping their contents out onto her bed to fully indulge in her purchases.

"Don't crease anything!" Danielle warned, dumping the last of Lyra's school books on the rickety dresser. It shook violently as they dropped which was unsurprising since Lyra had tried to buy a copy of every book that caught her eye. Danielle glanced down and tutted at the sight of a grizzly manticore ripping the head off of a flinching wizard on the cover of an advanced magical creature guide. The sneaky minx must have slipped that one onto the counter when she wasn't looking.

"I won't," puffed Lyra, dragging her brand new leather trunk into the centre of the room, her face screwed up in concentration. It was getting rather heavy and she hadn't even put the books in yet. This could be a problem.

"Do you need some help packing?" suggested Danielle, observing the girl's bizarre method. Lyra shook her head and pulled out the broken Walkman from her now abandoned sports bag and transferred it into her shiny new school backpack, hoping to find a way to fix it in one of her new books. Danielle cringed awkwardly at the sight of it - she had forgotten to warn her about the lack of electricity.

"Uh, you were better off leaving that in Weymouth," she divulged, watching Lyra organise a dozen rattling cd cases. "Muggle devices don't work at Hogwarts, too much interference."

Lyra's jaw dropped, looking crestfallen. "You've got to be kidding me - I chose these over my paints!"

"It slipped my mind, I haven't thought about Hogwarts in a very long time," she said, perching on the end of the bed. A smile played at her lips at the thought of the magical school and she couldn't be happier that Lyra was about to discover all of its wonder. "You'll be way too busy with everything else you won't even miss it," she insisted, which brought the pouting girl out of her sulk.

Lyra picked up the chunky copy of _Hogwarts: A History_ from the pile and threw it on the bed beside Danielle for some light bedtime reading, she felt anxious for the new day tomorrow and needed to know what to expect. Her stomach twisted harshly in anticipation.

"Let's hope you're right," she wished.

A sullied chrome clock chimed from above the stark fireplace reminding them of the dinner that was calling them from below the floorboards but a new sound cut through the air.

"He's awake!" Lyra cried, rushing over to the bell birdcage that sat in the corner of the room. She peaked under the black fabric cover and watched her baby bird gaze back at her in awe, quiet chirps escaping its small beak. Her heart started to melt as she cooed at him, sticking her finger through the bars to stroke his wispy feathers. "Danielle, look! Isn't he handsome?!"

She looked back at Danielle who stared at the cage, a mixture of disgust and forced agreement written clearly on her face. She had objected to Lyra purchasing the baby barn owl for many reasons, and yet again appearance was a big concern. Lyra ignored her objections and bought the owl anyway, determined to care for the owlet from the beginning of its life. Baby barn owls were very questionable and were thought to bring bad luck; they looked like tiny, fuzzy pterodactyls until their third month when their beautiful golden plume started to form. All of the customers inside the pet shop were aghast at the baby bird's appearance which, naturally, spurred on Lyra's inspired purchase.

"Mm, he's something… Have you named him yet?" wondered Danielle, changing the subject hastily. Lyra poured her pet treats into the cage and left him to peck his way through his dinner, the cover protecting him from the bright lights.

"I think I'm going to go with Apollo, like the sun god. It'll make more sense when he grows his feathers," she decided, turning to many books she had to cram into her trunk.

"You know, he won't be up to flying for a few months," warned Danielle, and Lyra shot her a wink.

"Three months, to be exact," she proudly interjected.

"The point is we won't be able to write to each other for a while, how do you feel about that?" questioned Danielle, forever in her professional mindset.

"I think I'll be okay. Hopefully I'll have some exciting stories to share with you," she suggested, organising her small library by subject as she spoke. "It'll be really boring if I don't have anything to write about."

"That's the spirit!" cheered Danielle, climbing to her feet. "Although I wouldn't be surprised if I received a letter home from your head of house before then. There are a lot of rules to follow while you're there and I know you have a special retention for rule-breaking - _please_ try to behave."

"That won't be a problem, this is a _magic_ school. Does my private library not prove my interest in learning and behaving well in class?" Lyra gestured to the growing piles that were beginning to surround the pair.

"Yes but I know you tend to keep your grades separate from your shenanigans so I'm not holding my breath," said Danielle, rolling her eyes and she headed towards the door.

"I'll be downstairs in ten minutes," she told her, giving the room one more glance with a wince, "and I'm not expecting miracles here but you do have a lot of work to do so do remember to come down and eat!"

Lyra promised to join her soon then watched the door close softly as Danielle waltzed out. She immediately left the books on the floor and collapsed on the bed, groaning as she stretched from exhaustion. It was her own fault for not going to bed early, and she tried to scold herself for thinking about repeating the mistake but it was pointless. She lay there for a second, listening to Apollo's soft shuffling from the corner, and began to imagine all of the manual labour she wouldn't have to do once she mastered a bit of magic. Her eyes shot to her backpack by the bed's clawed feet, and she scrambled to grab it. One hand dove inside and promptly pulled out her new favourite possession - her wand.

The clear highlight of her day was visiting their last shopping destination, _Ollivander's_ \- the wand shop that had quite the reputation according to Danielle. Every witch and wizard across the nation went to Ollivander for their wands, she had told her, and he always found the perfect match. Lyra clicked her tongue and rolled the wand between her fingers, soaking in the rich colour of the wood that she would remember forever. Ollivander didn't find the perfect match for her.

She had wasted her last hours of daylight in the wand shop with Danielle and Mr Ollivander, going through every box and trying the wand that lived inside. The wandmaker had stripped the walls bare searching for the wand that was calling her, and she could see the frustration and despair set in the cracks in his face and felt as though her lungs were deflating. Wandboxes littered the floor, pictures had been accidentally torn, vases of flowers were set alight and Lyra had never been more embarrassed in her life. Horrible assumptions ran through her mind and dragged her down from her pedestal and Jane was slowly seeping back into her soul. _Maybe you're not a witch,_ the voices whispered within, _maybe you are just a freak._ _You don't belong here_.

As a last attempt Mr Ollivander unlocked his cellar trapdoor, wiped off the cobwebs as he climbed down, and emerged a few minutes later with a thin, pale wood wand in his fidgety fingers. Lyra noticed how piercingly bright his eyes were when he stopped before her, his pruned lips forming a hard straight line.

"I'm afraid I don't have a box for this one," he told her, watching with his ever growing intense gaze. Lyra frowned up at him.

"How come?"

"Because this wand isn't for sale," he revealed, twirling the wand in his delicate fingers. "Miss Black, I've never struggled this much with a patron before. I can't seem to find a combination that agrees with you and all the wands seem to know this thus their refusal to choose you. The wand chooses the witch and, for reasons that I wish not to divulge into, I believe this wand wants you." Ollivander looked as though he were in extreme pain, his demeanour had switched from wise and mysterious to disturbed and annoyed. He was clutching the wand rather tightly, hesitant to let it go.

"If you don't want to sell the wand then we can keep searching?" Lyra suggested, not wanting to upset the wandmaker as he looked like one loud yell would shatter his bones. He shook his head and held the wand out with a heaving sigh.

"That's not how this works. I have no power over the wand's decisions," he told her. "If you may, Miss Black?"

Lyra accepted the wand and felt her fingers curl around four thick knots that made up its handle. Straight away this wand felt different from the others. It shivered and lost all warmth, turning colder than an icicle, but it was refreshing rather than threatening. Lyra felt as though a long lost limb had finally been reattached to her body, and she twisted it in her hands mesmerised by its beauty. A creeping chill grew inside her chest when she waved around, testing it out like she had done with the others.

The entire shop glittered, glowing white sparkles floating through the air illuminating everything they touched. Lyra gasped and grabbed the wand tighter, grinning at Danielle who clapped in amazement, cheering her on.

"That was incredible!" she whooped, and Lyra gave a small curtsey and turned back to still solemn Ollivander. He didn't seem to be impressed by her theatrics.

"This brings us to the end of our search," he announced, walking behind her glass counter, swiftly rearranging the mess as he went. "We have found your wand - 13 inches, unique temperament, made of reed, and contains specks of hair," he described vaguely, beckoning her over. She glanced at the light coloured wand and admired its design. It was strikingly smooth until its interesting handle and her finger felt a small engrave at its end. "It's perfect, thank you for letting me have it," she gushed, hoping to cheer Ollivander up slightly. His lips curled into a kind smile but his eyes stayed cold, unwelcoming almost.

"Again, if I had my wish that wand wouldn't be in your possession," he repeated, and she dropped her gaze.

"I'm sorry," she muttered. She didn't mean to upset him so much. "Can I ask why you don't want me to have it? Since I'm its new owner I want to know if it will spontaneously combust one day." She knew her question was valid, but she tried not to seem so nosy.

Mr Ollivander's anger melted away as though he realised he had company and leant forward, gazing at his creation with content. "Apologises if I seem a tad insensitive but I have invested a lot of my time and love into that particular wand. I styled it after a wand I heard about once in an old poem and wondered if I could recreate it, a silly childhood dream of mine. The components were very tricky to work with and sadly I didn't succeed - the wand malfunctioned and has since refused to channel any magic… until now it seems," he recounted, smiling at the memories he had once forgotten. "Very strange…"

"What's the name of the poem?" she tried to ask but Ollivander suddenly became very forgetful and rushed to get through his final transaction for the day, muttering about previously arranged engagements he had to attend to. Lyra handed over her gold galleons and slipped the wand into her dungaree pocket, relishing in the satisfaction when it fit perfectly.

Coming out of her thoughts, Lyra continued to examine the wand, rolling over towards the nearest oil lamp and thrusted its handle into the light, trying to get a better view of the engraving at its tip. She spotted a miniscule rune gleam back but couldn't figure out if it was a cross or some sort of spiral. Either way, she commended the odd wandmaker's attention to detail, he really did put a lot of care into his products. Lyra swished the wand once more before shoving it in her dungaree pocket; she might as well get used to carrying it all the time. With _Hogwarts: A History_ under one arm, she headed downstairs for her final meal with Danielle before she departed for her first school year as a witch.


	7. Clowning Around

Lyra gawked at the red brick wall in front of her, her freckled nose wrinkled in disbelief.

"So you're telling me," she began, looking to Danielle who stood at her side with Apollo's sheltered cage in her hands, "we have to run into this wall to get to our platform?" The pair had reached King's Cross station in the nick of time and were panting heavily on Platform 9, both of them leaning on Lyra's school trunk for stability as they tried to catch their breaths. They didn't plan on being late but the witch's impromptu lie-in had put a huge obstacle in their path and they had spent the last fifteen minutes sprinting through London's hectic streets - not an easy feat with an extremely heavy trunk and a baby owl.

Danielle's honey eyes sparkled humorously and she nodded, amused with the method herself. "I know it sounds crazy but trust me, it'll be fine," she insisted as she checked her watch. They only had ten minutes until the train closed its doors.

People dashed by, muttering apologies as they clipped shoulders, and Lyra wondered why wizards would choose to have their access point in a very public place. Surely the muggles have noticed people sprinting into solid columns and disappearing completely - she certainly would if she were bored, waiting for a delayed train.

"I trust you," said Lyra as she glanced around at the busy platform, "I just can't believe it would be in such an obvious spot. Do we have to do anything special to the wall or is it ready for us?"

"No, we just have to run," answered Danielle, smoothing stray flyaways from Lyra's nervous face. "A lot of magic is about intention, you just go with the flow," she explained, echoing her mother's wise words. "The muggles won't notice, they never do."

"Let me guess - magic?" guessed Lyra, slowly catching on to how the wizarding world works. Danielle winked and jerked her head towards the bricks, signalling her to go.

"You better hurry, I can't have you missing the Express. It'll cause quite the scandal and I don't think you need anymore of those," she muttered and gave their surroundings one last check. The only ones people nearby had their heads deep in newspapers or were facing the other way conveniently busy. "Try not to close your eyes! I'll be right behind you."

Lyra held her breath, gripped her trolley tighter despite her sweating palms, and took off. As the wall got closer she instinctively squeezed her eyes shut and pushed forwards with blind hope. CRASH!

The trolley smashed into the bricks and toppled forwards, sending Lyra head first into the column. She felt the top of her head crack as she scraped the wall, and collapsed on top of her tumbling trunk. People stopped to watch, muttering about the youth today, and Danielle skidded to a halt herself, clutching her mouth trying not to laugh at her ghastly mistake. It was the third column, not the second.

Lyra climbed off the floor and shot Danielle her deadliest glare. Her freckled face flushed as she shoved the trunk back into the now squeaking trolley and waited for her guardian to compose herself.

"I am so sorry-," Danielle started to say but the grin on her large glossed lips said it all. Lyra shook her head, looking far too mature for her age as she scolded the woman fifteen years her senior.

"Did you do that on purpose?" She huffed, and Danielle hurried to explain her blunder as the large clock hands quickly moved towards the bold number twelve.

"Of course not, I never came to see my brother off so I wasn't one hundred percent sure," She explained as she shoved the girl and her trolley towards the appropriate brick wall. "We need to go now!"

Danielle went to let go of her but Lyra quickly replaced her hands in her shoulders. "No way, I don't want to hit another wall and knock myself out - we're going together," she asserted, and Danielle had no choice. She felt a little sick, riddled with the same nausea she felt when using the Floo Network, but pressed on nevertheless.

The pair dashed through the brick wall and found themselves on a single platform edge full of witches and wizards waving grandly at the magnificent crimson steam train, great billowing clouds of white rolled around their cloak hems and filled the floor. Lyra gasped at the appearance of the train, her bright eyes wider than ever, then felt Danielle shove her forwards, knocking her out of her daze.

"The doors are closing!" she yelped in panic, "GO!"

Lyra felt the adrenaline kick in. Tightening her grip on the handlebars, she barged into the crowds screaming for them to clear a path. Families shot backwards, gawking and muttering about poor time management as Lyra whizzed to the nearest open door, her wild black hair getting in the way. She felt her heartbeat in her mouth as she dragged the trunk on board but felt relief settle over her when she saw Danielle's glowing face arrive at the door just in time with Apollo, trying to dab at the sweat that threatened to streak her makeup.

"Great...job…" she wheezed, poking through the open window as the door slid into place. Lyra caught her breath and rushed over, squeezing the top half of her body through the hole to give her saviour a hug.

"I can't thank you enough, Danielle," she told her quietly over the loud surrounding yells of goodbyes. "I wouldn't be here without you."

"Oh hush," sniffed Danielle, trying not to get too teary eyed. "Sweetie, this was all you. You should be proud of yourself." They gave each other one last squeeze before her guardian took a step back, blinking hard and fast.

"Remember; follow the rules, if you have any questions talk to your head of house or Professor Dumbledore, make some friends and most importantly - have fun!" Lyra heard her shout over the train's deafening whistle and she laughed, fighting against the overwhelming urge to cry. The only person in her life was now drifting away from her yet she felt the panic come and go. A voice in the back of her mind was encouraging her to think positively - after all, this was her fresh start.

The Hogwarts Express started to pick up speed and soon the train was snaking through the city, following the untraceable rails towards the countryside. Lyra debated staying in the small confines of the train's corridor for a while longer but the thought of standing up for hours was not how she pictured her journey to school. Plastering her friendliest smile on her face, she set off on her first mission.

Apart from the obvious stares and mutters, the first thing Lyra noticed were the congregations - she could tell straight away that the students of Hogwarts mingled within their own houses. Every compartment she dared to peer into seemed to only hold students all wearing the same patterns of colours whether it were matching school scarves or sweaters with embroidered animal emblems or temporarily hung banners declaring their house loyalties - she never once saw the four colours mix. Intrigued but slightly intimidated, she avoided the older students and tried to find the compartment full of mismatched eleven year olds that were as confused as she was.

By the time she had found a potential resting point Lyra was struggling to hold onto her possessions. It seemed her morning of vigorous energy use had taken its toll and her back cried out in agony. The inhabitants inside the compartment hurried to open the door when they saw her dump the trunk on the floor, giving up.

"We've got space for one more?"

In the open doorway beside her stood a smiling dark-skinned boy, his hand outstretched towards her. He wore a pristine Spurs football shirt and a pair of baggy camo printed trousers signalling to Lyra that she had been blessed with some muggle familiarity. She froze, momentarily taken aback at the boy's kindness, but gladly handed him Apollo's cage.

"I'll take you up on that offer," Lyra wheezed, dragging the trunk inside the compartment behind her. The boy helped her shove her belongings out of the way and introduced her to their fellow carriage mates. Three new faces stared up at her and she tried her best to remember their names.

"Not a problem. My name's Dean by the way, and this is Neville-," he gestured to the shy, brunette boy settled next to the window and Lyra commended him on his bizarre sweater choice. He seemed to smile at the comment but was reluctant to continue their introduction as he turned back to the rushing countryside views beyond the window.

"-and I'm Hermione Granger," interrupted the girl nearest the door, and she stretched out her hand to Lyra as though they were in a job interview. She had thick frizzy hair that fell below her shoulders, golden brown skin, and a very toothy white smile. Lyra noticed she was already wearing her school uniform as she shook her hand politely.

"Nice to meet you, I'm Lyra," she replied as she took her seat and the fourth boy gasped, gaining everyone's attention. He puffed out his chest and stuck his hand out to Lyra, his shaggy blonde hair gleaming in the light. He was tall like Dean with round hazel eyes and heavy set brows. He seemed rather full of himself but Lyra knew not to judge people too quickly.

"I thought I recognised you - you're Lyra Black, you were in the papers yesterday," he disclosed to the compartment as though it were important news but Dean and Hermione glanced at her, unsure of what to make of his proclamation. "I'm Zacharius Smith, fellow pureblood," he added pompously. His hand waited for hers but Lyra simply blinked at it, her own hands unmoved. She knew what to do, it was like a genetic urge coded into her being and she blindly trusted it.

"Is it customary for wizards to introduce themselves with their blood status?" she asked without pausing, and Zacharius dropped his arm blushing slightly at her bluntness.

"Uh, no... but I thought maybe you would want to know," he told her, "because of the papers."

"The newspapers?" questioned Hermione, clearly miffed at their vagueness. Lyra's stomach plummeted at Zacharius' presumption and hurried to take charge of her own story.

"It's nothing important, just some legal stuff," she dismissed, hoping that Zach would catch her hint to stop talking about it, and he quietened down in his corner, staring at Lyra in disbelief. "You shouldn't believe everything you read anyways," she added as an afterthought.

"So you've not been living in a muggle kids dump for the past decade?" asked Zach sourly, and Lyra rolled her eyes.

"Okay so some of it is accurate but that's not the point," she countered, earning another glare from the blonde. He was starting to irritate her already and she prayed that she wouldn't have to deal with him for much longer.

"My Gran always said that journalists were nasty people," piped up Neville, finally drawing himself away from the scenic fields that rolled back, "and that you should always read their stories through Squib's eyes." Lyra guffawed at the wizarding idiom but decided that now was not a great time to analyse it.

"Through what?" frowned Dean, dumbstruck at his words, but Hermione beat everyone to it.

"A Squib is someone who has wizarding parents but is not a witch or wizard themselves," she recited as though she had a dictionary in her hands, "it's the opposite of a muggle-born."

"Could you imagine the embarrassment if you turned out to be a Squib?" drawled Zacharius, starting to laugh at the mere thought but automatically stopped himself when he saw Lyra's face drop.

"Really? There's nothing shameful about being a Squib," she shot back hotly, all warmth towards the boy disappearing completely. She prayed he was an anomaly in the student body, surely not everyone could share these views? His introduction was starting to make more sense now.

"Of course not, I'm just saying that it would be horrible finding out that you couldn't come to Hogwarts. I'm not saying Squibs are bad or anything," he backtracked, playing with the collar of his shirt, and tried to look at the others for support. Dean stifled his smirk and glanced at Hermione who had her lips pursed and her arms crossed, unamused. Neville diverted his stare and suddenly found the animal cages in the racks above them very entertaining, clearly uncomfortable at the conversation. Lyra grinned back at the now flustered Zacharius and stretched her legs out, settling back into the seat cushions.

"Sure you did, dude."

Zacharius didn't say another word for a while. He sulked in the corner as he listened to the group share snippets of what they knew about Hogwarts but Lyra could feel the heat from his glares at her as they chatted. Neville revealed he came from a long line of wizards and was incredibly nervous about which house he was going to be sorted into, whilst Hermione and Dean traded details of their muggle backgrounds, declaring themselves muggleborns. She also found out that Hermione shared her passion of collecting as many books as she could and the pair spent a while comparing their collections, hyping each other up about the prospects of checking out the school library. Neville retold the stories his grandmother had told him about the castle but Dean came up blank, his only question being whether there would be football teams at the school.

By the time the trolley witch arrived at their compartment ("No one knows when she started working aboard the Express," whispered Hermione to no-one in particular) Zach finally gave up and burst out with endless questions for Dean about his favourite game, perplexed at the idea of playing a sport without using broomsticks.

Lyra gawked at the seemingly empty food cart but revelled in the mouthwatering sweet and savoury treats that were left, bursting to try them all. Her stomach rumbled longingly as she stared at a pile of twisted orange pastries that were calling her name and gave in. She dug into her backpack and pulled out a fistful of gold galleons, pouring them into the witch's fragile hands.

"I'll have five of everything please!" she said brightly. The witch blinked and tutted, muttering under her breath as she accepted her coins, "Kids these days."

"As a thank you for letting me sit with you, I've treated us to a feast," she proclaimed to the carriage once the elderly witch dumped her purchases on their table. They gazed at the food with gratitude and dug into the magical confectionary, swapping jellybeans and sharing the wriggling taffy. Zacharius went to grab one of the twisted pastries and Lyra gasped, swatting his hand away.

"Oh no all of these are mine - you can have something else though," she muttered, feeling less bitter now she had a full stomach. His frown twitched into a half smile and he quietly thanked her before indulging in the cauldron-shaped fondants. Just as Lyra bit into her third zesty treat, Neville yelped and patted his pockets, frantically searching for something. He jumped onto the floor and began to shuffle through the trunks, shoving everyone's feet out of his way. Hermione squeaked and managed to grab her heavy book before it smacked Neville in the face.

"Neville mate, are you alright?" asked Dean, hitching his legs up onto the seat.

His small face emerged, petrified.

"I was going to feed some of the Ice Mice to Trevor but he's not in his pouch," he babbled, showing off the empty green sack attached to his trunk handle. Lyra stuffed the rest of her food into her mouth, brushed off the crumbs from her clothes, and climbed onto the seats for a better vantage point.

"Don't worry I'm sure he's here somewhere. What is Trevor anyways?" she asked, shuffling through the luggage on the metal racks. She saw Apollo's tiny talon poke through the black fabric and she gave it a quick tap, letting him know she was still there.

"He's a toad," he told them sadly, "he never goes too far but he's never been on a train before." The adoration for his pet was prominent in his voice and it made Lyra's heart hurt in empathy.

"A toad? Rather old-fashioned, aren't they?" piped up Zach as though on cue, nose sticking up in the air.

"I'd say they're more retro," defended Lyra, not turning down the chance to bite back at Smith. "It's very fashionable, actually."

"I know more about this than you, actually. What do you know about wizarding fashion-," Zach started to say but Hermione jumped to her feet at the sight of the rising tension between the pair, cutting him off before he could find his stride.

"I'm going to check the corridors for Trevor," she suggested loudly, her brown eyes catching Lyra's with a little nod towards the door. "He might have slipped out when the trolley witch arrived."

Catching her drift, Lyra jumped down from the cushioned seats with a bang and slid the compartment door open. "I also want to leave this awkward situation so..." she said deadpanned, staring Zacharius square in the face. He narrowed his eyes and scoffed, fighting the urge to snap back. Pink twinged through the golden brown of Hermione's cheeks and she hopped through the door, refusing to listen to them bicker any longer. Lyra turned to Neville and offered him what she hoped was a kind smile, something she didn't have much experience in doing.

"I will find your toad or I will die trying," she told him with her hand over her heart. "I promise you, no matter how many men die in the process - your Trevor will be in your arms again soon." Neville looked bewildered, unsure whether she was joking or not. Dean barked out in laughter, chucked a handful of jelly beans into his grinning mouth and patted the trembling boy on the shoulder.

"She's only kidding," he assured him, and Neville's whimper fell into a chuckle, relieved at his words.

"I'm totally serious," Lyra muttered back with her grey eyes wide for theatrical effect and it wiped Neville's reassurance from his cheeks. "I'm not returning until the toad is safe."

"No need to be so dramatic," tutted Zacharius, sick of her sarcasm. Lyra dropped the facade and rolled her eyes, shoving the anxious comments from her mind.

"I was just trying to lift the mood," she said soberly, barely glancing in his direction. "Neville's clearly upset that his pet is missing. Lighten up Smith, it's not that serious."

She left before Zacharius attempted to defend himself and found Hermione waiting in the corridor, pretending to look interested in the vibrant grasslands rushing by the windows. Lyra tried to ignore the heat in her face and walked on, searching the floor of the toad. She had expected there to be a bump in the road, not everyone was going to like her, but her interaction with Zacharius had thrown her off. She wasn't sure what he thought of her now but her subconscious reminded her that it wasn't her problem - who cares about Smith's presumptions about her! That was none of her business.

"He was totally out of line," chirped Hermione after a few minutes of silent searching, glancing at Lyra cautiously. "He's very full of himself."

"Who? Mr Humble back there? Surely not…" said Lyra, biting her tongue as an attempt to shut herself up. "He's delightful!"

"I don't quite understand what he was talking about though. How come he mentioned his blood status to you? Are you a pureblood?" wondered Hermione innocently, and Lyra reluctantly nodded.

"Apparently so, but I've grown up thinking I was a muggle my entire life. It's really jarring, people assume I know more than I do but I'm just as clueless as you are about everything. I have no clue why he brought it up, and I'm praying it won't happen again!" she blurted out, exasperated from the Smith's jabs.

"I don't think you can say we're clueless; together we have seventy seven books packed in our trunks, fifty of them completely unrelated to anything on our syllabus," recounted Hermione matter-of-factly, "you'll be just as informed as the rest of the pure-bloods by the end of the year, I know I certainly will be. You shouldn't have to live your life based on what other people think of you."

A bolt of appreciation struck Lyra as she absorbed the facts Hermione spat and nodded, impressed at the attitude she had. She was right, she shouldn't be so easily discouraged by the prejudgements, if anything she should be motivated.

"I like the way you think," said Lyra with a growing smile, and Hermione tried not to look too smug, basking in her short lived glory.

Just as they reached the fourth carriage the train jolted on its tracks and sent the student body flying. A few students yelled instinctively as bags came tumbling down from high places and the compartment doors rolled on their hinges from shock. Lyra instinctively steadied herself as though she were back on her skateboard and watched Hemione tumble to the floor with a small squeak. Trying to hide her laughter Lyra went to offer her a hand but caught something in the corner of her eye.

A glowing yellow spark exploded out from a compartment up ahead and ricocheted off the window pane, spinning like a firework until it collided with Lyra's face. It propelled her backwards through the air and she slammed into the ground, winded from the spell. Her cheeks were cold and prickly, like sharp rain droplets were splattering on her face, and her mind turned to mush.

"I am so sorry!"

"Uh what did you say that spell was again?"

"Are you ok?!"

Lyra blinked away the dancing stars in her vision and eventually caught her breath, her back crying out in agony with each puff. First, the brick wall, and now this… She was going to need a back brace before the year was out. A hand appeared before her and she blindly took it, ignoring the shooting pains throughout her body as she scrambled to her feet.

The hand belonged to a new face, a dark haired boy with large, round glasses she hadn't seen before, and she quickly withdrew from his reach, feeling awkward as he stared. Another newcomer popped up beside him, clutching their freckled face as they gawked at her in horror. He was a vibrant redhead with wateringly blue eyes but Lyra wasn't sure whether they were so vivid from genetics or tears.

"I can't believe them… I am so sorry!" he whined again, and Lyra frowned, catching their worried glances. All three of them were staring at her as though she had grown a third eye, and she started to touch her face.

"What? What is it?" she urged, turning to the reflection on the windows but it was still too light outside for her to make out a clear image. Her heart was racing, fearing the worst. Did she still have a face? She felt unusually faceless and tried not to freak out.

"How on earth did you do that?" gasped Hermione, forcing Lyra to face her so she could inspect the spell's effects.

"I thought it was supposed to turn your rat yellow," said the boy with glasses, trying his best not to seem rude but Lyra heard him laugh and she tried not to flee out of sheer discomfort.

"Am I yellow?!" she squealed trying to inspect her hands, and the ginger boy shook his head, ashamed.

"No, it's worse," he started to explain when Hermione let out a small chuckle, judging his handiwork with disapproval.

"I don't think that was a real spell," she told him, and the boy's evident horror transformed into serious offence. He turned to her with his nose wrinkled, ready to snap back at her.

"Oh really? And you know every spell that's ever existed?" he countered, oblivious to Lyra's growing distress as they ignored her. Hermione, now fully invested in her own bickering match to answer Lyra's attempted interruptions, folded her arms and returned his glare.

"No but I know a dud when I see one! I've read all about them."

"You can't have read that far ahead already."

"It's not that far ahead."

"Yes it is!"

"It's on page twenty of our Charms textbook!"

Lyra couldn't believe her eyes or ears. Hermione, the non-confrontational stuffy geek she had just met, was fully engaged in a bickering war with this flustered redhead in the middle of the corridor, just minutes after preaching about not caring what others thought. There was no way she could grab her attention so Lyra ditched the bickering pair and sought out support elsewhere. People were starting to stick their heads out of their doors, wondering who was causing so much commotion, but they were beginning to notice Lyra and started pointing, laughing at her. She turned to the other boy who had been quietly watching the scene unravel and grabbed his shoulders, snatching his attention.

"Help!"

"Er..." he stuttered, taken aback slightly, but looked towards his compartment hopefully, "you're more than welcome to hide out in our compartment?"

"Perfect," said Lyra, darting inside before he could finish his sentence. The seats and table were littered with piles upon piles of sugary snacks and rich confectionery and Lyra remembered the trolley's lack of choice with a smirk, impressed at their conviction. Throughout the wrappers she spotted a chunky brown rat nibbling at the corner of a chocolate bar, merely chilling within the food like it was commonplace. The spectacled boy followed and closed the door, shutting out the argument in the process, looking rather flummoxed himself.

"Sorry about the mess," he hurried to apologise, his cheeks turning pale pink. "Ron didn't bring much for lunch so I thought we'd try everything from the trolley and things gradually got out of control."

Lyra's heart warmed at his underlying sentiment. "I'm guessing that's Ron?" she asked, nodding towards the redhead she had just seen run past the glass, still shouting animatedly, face now redder than his flaming hair. Hermione brushed past a second later, her bouncing brown hair trailing behind her as she rushed off after Ron.

The boy nodded, still amused at his new friend. "He really is sorry, he was just showing me a spell to turn his rat yellow when the train jolted," he explained earnestly, and Lyra gasped, remembering her predicament.

"What did he do to me?" she spluttered urgently, and the boy gritted his teeth. He looked as though he'd rather be burned alive than tell her the truth.

"Uh so… you look like a clown," he admitted, face screwed up in preparation for her screams, but she simply pouted. Oh. Was that it?

"As in red nose, white face, 'honk honk' clown?" she asked as though it were a perfectly reasonable question, and the boy slumped back in his chair, torn between amazement and disbelief as he stared. Her entire face was bright white with two black crosses slashed over her eyes, a small red button nose and a creeping crimson curve that forced her lips into a permanent smile - it was more terrifying than funny at this point.

"You look disappointed?" he mused aloud. "Trust me, you look insane!"

Lyra narrowed her eyes. "How insane?"

"Have you ever seen IT?" he wondered, deadpanned.

Lyra guffawed, laughing at the perfect comparison. "Oh no, not IT! You did not just call me Pennywise?!"

The boy grinned and simply shrugged. "You could be twins. This wasn't what I thought my journey to school would look like - I wasn't expecting the circus to be onboard today," he teased, and Lyra took it lightly. It wasn't brash or forced like Zacharius' comments and she found herself enjoying the stranger's company. A part of her couldn't believe she was actually sharing a joke with another person her age, something that had never happened before. At that thought, she realised she didn't even know the kind stranger's name.

"I'm Lyra, by the way, Lyra Black" she repeated, and this time she stuck her hand out first. The boy took it and shook it firmly, thrilled at her gesture.

"I'm Harry Potter," he replied, and for the first time in Lyra's wizarding experience she felt the strangest sense of deja vu. Something buried deep in her subconscious suddenly awakened - his name almost felt familiar to her. Where had she heard that name before? She wanted to share this sensation but it quickly vanished when she saw someone peer into the compartment, refusing to move on from the window.

"Do you know him?" asked Lyra, jabbing her thumb at their audience, and Harry's smile vanished at their appearance. He ran a hand through his hair and she spotted a deep, jagged scar on his forehead but she said nothing, not wanting to accidentally offend him.

"No but I've met him once before," he mumbled, "he's a bit of a prat." Lyra clicked her tongue and decided to stare back at her new fan, trying to scare him off. He was slender and pale with white blonde hair, cold blue eyes, and a haughty grin on his lips when he assessed her new look. She didn't want to admit it but he reminded her of Rachel which was never a great sign. Finally the door slid open and the stalker wandered in as though he were invited but his group of friends stayed put outside, glowering from the shadows.

"Can we help you? Are you lost?" piped up Lyra in her sweetest tone, and the boy frowned at her.

"Why do you look like that?" he drawled patronisingly, and Lyra feigned ignorance.

"What are you talking about?"

"You look crazy," he told her, slightly confused.

She gasped loudly. "How rude! This is just my face!"

Harry had to turn away to hide his laughter, trying not to ruin her fun or the beautiful expression on their visitor's face.

"What a weirdo," snickered one of the boys at the door, and Lyra scowled in their direction, unsure which of the lanky, scowling boys had insulted her.

"What a killjoy," she shot back.

"What do you want?" said Harry bluntly to the blonde boy. He smirked and looked them before up and down, his inscrutable stare harsher than before.

"I heard a rumour that the famous Harry Potter was on the train and I needed to see it for myself," he explained, "I'm a little disappointed you didn't tell me beforehand."

"You didn't exactly give me the chance to tell you when we met, you didn't shut up!" scoffed Harry sassily, reflecting the blonde's judgemental expression.

"Regardless of whether that's true or not," countered the boy coldly, "I heard the news and wanted to formally introduce myself to you. I'm Draco Malfoy, pureblood."

So it is a thing, thought Lyra, slightly startled at the emerging pattern. She never suspected wizards to be racist.

"I think you have a stalker, Harry," whispered Lyra loudly, and Draco's pale face brightened to a hot peach when he saw them suppress their chuckles. His steely glare switched to Lyra and he took a step closer, trying to get a closer look at her actual facial features. Her stomach churned harder the longer he observed her but he soon recognised the face behind the clown makeup.

"I was hoping you were more put together than this, Black, but I guess that's what you get when you're raised by a Squib," teased Draco, pretending to gag at the idea. The sulking group jeered at their friend's joke but Lyra evaluated his weak taunt.

"Danielle has only been my guardian for two years, but by all means try again," she suggested, unbothered.

"I didn't come here to tease you, although you are making that very difficult," sighed Draco, rolling his eyes. "I actually came here to make friends with you both."

Harry blinked, dumbstruck. "Friends?"

Lyra cackled, entertained. "With you?"

"What gave you the impression that we want to be friends with you?" spat Harry, but Lyra hesitated for a moment. It was fair to say that she wasn't making the situation easy for Draco but she did believe in giving everyone a fair chance, just like she deserved. Maybe they were merely getting off on the wrong foot? First days of school were very intense and a lot for an eleven year old to process.

"...we've just met, I can't say if I want to be your friend or not," she told him, grey eyes narrowed suspiciously, and Draco gave her his first genuine smile.

"There is a lot of important information that you both need to know before you start introducing yourselves around Hogwarts and I know that we can help you with that," he told them seriously, as though he were giving them a piece of life-saving advice.

"What kind of information?" asked Harry, more confused than enthusiastic at this point.

"You need to know that there are some wizarding families at school that you do not want to associate yourselves with. You wouldn't want to be known as a blood-traitor, especially with your reputations," he continued, but Lyra was beginning to feel awfully nauseous. She faded in and out of the conversation as she tried to focus on her breathing but Draco's words bounced around in her mind. She could sense what he was inferring and it made blood run cold.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Harry huffed, bringing Lyra back into the present. "I can decide for myself who I associate with, I don't need you telling me what to do."

"I'm not so sure about that, Potter," scoffed Draco. "I saw you with the Weasleys on the platform. Big mistake."

"Why are you being so rude?" exclaimed Lyra, taking herself by surprise.

Draco snickered, his friends echoing his harsh laugh. "These are things you should already know, Lyra. The Weasleys are blood traitors and not to mention poorer than dirt-,"

The rest of his insult was cut short by a wet slap of cream and pastry as a dessert exploded against Draco's face, spraying the whole compartment with thick white droplets. Lyra wiped the sweet filling from her hands and admired her handiwork, pleased with the amount of force she had used. Harry cleaned his glasses and tried to suppress his delight at watching the boy before them attempt to clean his face.

"What the hell was it for?!" Draco hollered, rubbing viciously at the stains on his new school robes.

Lyra looked unperturbed. "I slipped."

"Liar," spat one of the corridor dwellers, and Draco beckoned him in with the intentions of escalating the situation.

"No, I'm telling the truth. My hand slipped onto the pie and then slipped again when I threw it," she said sourly, taking in the appearance of the boy beside Draco. He was taller and broader than them all with buzzed caramel hair and a sulky expression that suggested he wasn't keen on getting covered with anything sticky.

"You shouldn't defend the weasels," scoffed Draco, "you don't want to embarrass yourself, Black. With a name like yours you need to know how to use it."

"Keep Ron and his family out of this," said Harry quickly, his scowl harsher than Lyra's. "They're more welcoming than you'll ever be."

"They're a joke, everyone knows that," added the new boy quietly but his clear disdain was deafening.

"And who are you?" asked Lyra. She might as well start learning names now, it would be a very long seven years if she didn't.

"Gregory Goyle," he mumbled, uninterested.

"Greg, no offence, but please go away," she said earnestly.

"I don't believe this," tutted Draco, annoyed. "I thought you would be more receptive to what we've got to say considering how little you know-,"

"You're telling me! I thought purebloods were supposed to be accepting and not racist, but here you stand, proving to me how wrong I was," she sassed back.

"-but I had more hope for you than I did for Potter," he finished with a snarl.

"What's that supposed to mean?" snapped Harry, inching towards the snacks on the table.

"Your story isn't exactly a secret," said Draco patronisingly, his cold eyes darting to Harry's forehead. He turned to his cronies who all snickered, sharing small snide comments. "Famous orphan Potter latching onto the closest piece of trash that shows him a little bit of love, how sad. It's not surprising that you chose the filthy Weasley-,"

SPLAT!

Another dessert smacked Draco in the face, more whipped filling spraying the room. Lyra guffawed and couldn't resist giving Harry the biggest grin she could muster whilst he chose another sweet pastry from its box, somewhat moved that he had continued her food fight. The second pastry seemed to be Draco's limit as he immediately dove towards a stack of sticky tartlets, eager to return the favour. It was a disgusting, creamy chaos. The four inside the compartment erupted and began to pelt sweets, cakes, anything they could find at each other, the glass windows slowly disappearing behind thick splatters of jams, creams, and chocolates of all colours. Lyra struggled to stay on her feet as the floor grew tacky and wet from tasty debris, but she continued to bombard her opponents with food, blocking out the jeers from their audience in the corridor.

The fight was short-lived as the chants were attracting a lot of attention for their fellow passengers, and Lyra soon spotted Hermione's gawking face through the door with an equally shocked Ron at her side. An older blonde girl behind Hermione pushed her way through the crowd and clapped her hands loudly, trying to get the brawlers attention.

"What on earth is going on here?" she yelled, outraged at the state of the space. Lyra spotted a shiny gold 'P' badge on her school robes and her stomach plummeted in suspicion that she was about to get a severe telling-off. The girl must have been roughly fifteen years old and clearly took her job of school prefect very seriously.

Draco and Gregory dropped their fistful of cake and stayed silent, simply glowering at the floor. Harry looked like a deer in headlights, trying to figure out how to explain the situation, but Lyra couldn't stop herself from interrupting him.

"Er we were-,"

"Don't suppose you've seen a toad anywhere? Responds to Trevor?" Lyra attempted as a distraction, trying to blink the heavy cream away from her eyelashes. She wiped some from her face and revealed the awful clown makeup staining her skin. "Honk honk."

The prefect looked stumped at her statements and shook her head, blonde curls bouncing on her shoulders. She pulled her wand from her pocket and flicked it towards Lyra as she muttered under her breath. Something warm trickled over her face and knew that she was finally free from the clown's grip.

"I am horrified that four first years are causing havoc before they've even arrived at Hogwarts! There's no excuse for this," she scolded boldly, glaring at each perpetrator, "you're incredibly lucky that term hasn't officially started yet or you four would have been scrubbing this compartment with your own toothbrushes." The audience ooh-ed, giggling quietly to each other. It was rare that there was commotion on the journey to Scotland and no one wanted to be left out.

Draco shot her a quick snarl. "You don't have the power to punish us," he dared to say and the prefect's sharp eyes twitched at his audacity.

"Thats it - all four of you are coming with me. You are not leaving my sight until we reach Hogsmeade. Follow me."

Lyra felt the oxygen in her lungs seep out and her whole body deflated in guilt. She never meant to get into trouble on the first day, this wasn't the impression she wanted to set considering her apparent notoriety and she had dragged a potential new friend into this mess with her by storming his compartment and trashing it. She didn't care about Draco or Gregory, they brought this on themselves, but Harry didn't deserve to get punished for being insulted then assaulted.

"I'm really sorry," Lyra quickly whispered to Harry as the prefect led the grumbling quartet through the gathering crowd and off towards the prefects' quarters at the front of the train. "I didn't mean to ruin your day and get you into trouble like this."

Even through all the icing caked on his face Lyra spotted Harry's smile.

"I don't mind, it was strangely therapeutic. Besides, this might mean Malfoy will leave us alone now. I think he got our answer to his question," he told her and the pair saw Draco turn back and glare at them, gritting his pearly teeth like a rabid dog. It would have been somewhat threatening if he wasn't covered head-to-toe in colourful pastes.

"Oh for sure - Draco Malfoy hates us," she deduced proudly.


End file.
